ow to manage it?"
"Carl," replied the doctor, as he pushed the package toward the young
man, "there is only one right way, and that is to become truly sorry for
wrongdoing, and cheerfully and bravely make retribution to all parties
you have injured. Anything short of this is not fair, and will do you no
good. If I take any hand in this matter, it must be to right the whole.
But, Carl, don't you see, you make no sacrifice in sending back the
money--money you have been unable to use? Had you been able to use it, it
might have been very different; it doubtless would have been. Its return
is not necessarily an evidence of either penitence or reform. It is
simply a confession of defeat. A coward can give up that which he cannot
use to his convenience. And is it possible, after all you have said about
being a living lie, is it possible that you are unwilling to pay any part
of the price of your unfortunate actions? Penitence is like charity. It
never counts cost. It is a godly sorrow for sin, and is willing to accept
results, be they ever so bitter."
"Doctor," said Carl, in complete surrender, "Let it be so. I am willing
to pay the price, even to death. I plead no more for my own sake, but I
would, if possible, save those who love me from humiliation and agony,
which to them would be more terrible than death."
"Here you mistake again," replied the doctor. "You imagine that your
father's pride is stronger than his love."
"So I do," stammered Carl. "I believe that my father would much rather
believe that his son is dead than to know that he is a criminal. There
has never been a stain on my father or mother's name until--until I
brought this one upon it and the holy office he occupies. Then, they have
lived through the anguish of believing me to be dead, and it is terrible
to think of bringing into their declining years a deeper sorrow. Ah,
believe me, Doctor, it is not my happiness I desire, but to save them
from deeper pain. If I am acting wrongly, I pray God, whom I now ask for
pardon, may direct me aright."
"I greatly fear," replied the doctor, "that you are only willing to be
directed in your own way. But I must leave you. The boat passes
Centerville in an hour. I will take the money and send it by express on
tomorrow's steamer."
As has been told, the money was duly received by the cashier of the Bank
of England.
As Mr. Bone opened the package, he discovered that the notes had been
first wrapped in a sheet of
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