revived youth, he said, very tenderly: "My poor boy."

"O, Bishop," sobbed the young man, "Let me go! Turn me out! I have been a
living lie to you and yours."

In his rapidly returning strength he arose as he thus spoke. "Forgive
me," he continued, disconsolately, "and let me get away out of your
sight. I will disgrace you no longer." He had secured his hat and moved
toward the door, but the bishop gently detained him, saying: "Wait, Carl.
Do nothing in haste. If you are sufficiently strong let us walk out into
the park. The fresh air will help you."

It was a beautiful autumn day. All around them the scene was bright and
peaceful. The trees were beginning to cast off their leaves. In the
exercise grounds the laughter of the students in their games was heard,
emphasizing the happiness of life and the joy of living. They sat down on
one of the rustic seats. After a few moments of silence, and when Carl
seemed to have become more calm, the bishop in a subdued tone said: "My
dear boy, I am glad this hour has come. You have my sincere forgiveness,
as well as my unbroken confidence. Let that suffice between you and me; I
forgive you, as I hope to be forgiven, and I love you more than ever.
But, Carl, there is yet another duty which you must perform. It has been
left too long undone already. It should have had the first place, but it
is not too late."

"I know, I know," interrupted the youth, desperately, "but it is
impossible. How can I tell my father and mother that their son lives, and
that he is a criminal and a liar? Can I inflict this upon them? They have
by this time passed through the bitterest pang in believing me to be
dead. Why now bring a deeper sorrow to their hearts?"