THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN
The Right Reverend Leonidas McLaren, Bishop of Durham, paced his room
with nervous tread that was uncommon with him. He was _thinking_, and
every few moments he turned to look at his wife, who had been engaged
with a piece of embroidery upon her lap. The day was closing, and a soft
melody from the piano, at which the young daughter sat, was the only
sound which broke the stillness of the twilight hour. Frequently at this
hour the little family found themselves indulging in thoughts of the sad
experience which had come to them. More than a year and a half had passed
since had been enacted the tragedy which brought to them their great
trouble, and yet resignation had hardly been perfected--a sad lingering
hope still clung to them even in the midst of their apparent despair.
"Tomorrow would have been his anniversary day," murmured the mother,
sadly, "who knows, but that, after all, he may come back."
"My dear," said the bishop, pausing in front of her, and laying his hand
gently upon her shoulder, "I think we mistake in trying to deceive
ourselves. It is better to cultivate the spirit of resignation."
At this moment, Joseph, the house man, entered and quietly approaching
the bishop, handed him a card. Glancing at the card, the bishop said:
"Conduct him to the reception room. I will be there presently." Written
with pencil on the card were the words: "A stranger desires to see you."
That was all.
The bishop laid the card upon the stand by his wife's side and
left the room.
The visitor's back was toward the bishop as he entered. He wore a long
duster, and held his hat in his hand. The bishop's quiet salutation
caused the man to turn partially around, and at the sight of his face the
bishop started slightly and asked: "Whom have I the pleasure of
addressing?"
"Father! Don't you know me?" burst from the visitor's lips, and then his
eyes fell, as if he were overwhelmed with a sense of shame and remorse.
The bishop raised his hand in a gesture of blank amazement. Surely this
mature man could not possibly be his son!
But at this moment his wife pushed past him exclaiming: "It is Edward, it
is Edward!" She threw her arms around Carl's neck, and the next moment he
was supporting her unconscious form, for she had fainted. The bishop
recovering from his astonishment assisted Carl in placing her upon a
sofa, and an instant later Eleen, the daughter, was at her side. The
bishop embraced the trembling, tearful prodigal, but could only
inarticulately murmur: "My boy--my boy--you have come back--you have come
back! Can it really be you--Edward?"
"Yes, father," sobbed the young man, "I am, indeed, Edward, your son; but
I am no more worthy to be thus called. I have sinned, father, against you
and in heaven's sight."
"Sinned," said his father, still embracing him. "What of that? Are you
not my son, and are you not living? O, how is this? We had so nearly
given you up."
Nor was his sister's welcome less affectionate. "You are my brother
Eddie," she exclaimed, kissing him fondly, "and you are alive! You were
not drowned. O, we hardly dared to hope for this!"
The mother's eyes at last opened, and she motioned for her son to come
and sit by her side on the sofa. Then, with mother's arms around him, and
father and sister near, he told the sad story of his fall, with all the
consequences that had followed--the return of the money, and his
confession to Bishop Albertson. "The Lord has forgiven me," he said, "the
bank has lost nothing and forgiven my crime. Bishop Albertson has
blotted it all out and loves me more dearly than ever, and gives me, as
before, his full confidence. But all this was not sufficient to give me
peace, and I have crossed the sea to confess to you my sin against you,
and ask your pardon." The mother's arms were around his neck, the
father's hands were upon his head, and Eleen held his hands in her own.
All wept in silence a moment or two, but the tears were tears of joy.
Then the father spoke with trembling voice: "My son was dead and is alive
again," he said. "He was lost and is found. Pardoned? Yes, joyously
pardoned! Forgiven by heaven, forgiven on earth. My heart gratefully
pardons all your errors toward me and mine. And now, my son, consecrate
yourself this day to God's service, and may your future life be so loyal
and noble that he who has been so loving and forbearing to us all and
restored you to his favor, may at last crown you with 'Well done, good
and faithful servant.'"
It was past midnight before they became aware of it. Joseph came in to
escort Mr. Edward, as he familiarly called him, to his room, but the
young man excused himself, since he had engaged a room at the hotel and
his baggage was there; but tomorrow he would come to them.
He returned to his lodging, where he slept as he had not slept during one
and a half years.
The next day was a great occasion at the episcopal residence. The early
morning service conveyed the strange, but glad, news to all who were
present that the good bishop's long absent son had returned, and they in
turn transmitted it to their friends. He was supposed to have been
drowned more than a year ago, and this day was the twentieth anniversary
of his birth. The house was filled with callers from early morning until
late at night. And thus it was for many days.
If anyone associated the reported drowning with the event of the bank
robbery, they never so expressed themselves, nor was his whereabouts
during his absence discussed in other than a friendly way. Nevertheless,
the returned wanderer was not wholly at ease. He suspected that the
kindly and refined nature of these friends silenced many questions which
doubtless were in their minds, and often a lull in the conversation
filled him with fear and dread of an inadvertent inquiry.