And does not God answer prayer? Yes, alway; but not always
in our way. When sin has found the sinner out--when warnings have been
slighted, mercies despised, the Spirit quenched, the gentle arm that
would guide us to glory rudely and perseveringly flung aside--then,
then, it may be, not even a believing mother's prayer shall avail to
turn aside the righteous stroke of the hand of that holy God who is to
his determined enemies a consuming fire.

All the night long did Frank Oldfield toss to and fro, or start up with
glaring eyes, calling on his drunken associates, singing wild songs, or
now and then recalling days when sin had not yet set its searing brand
on his heart and conscience. About midnight his father and mother stole
into his chamber. The nurse put up her finger. They cautiously shrank
back behind the screen of the bed-curtains out of his sight.

"Juniper, my boy!" exclaimed the wretched sufferer, "where's my mother?
Gone down to the rectory! Ah, they're water-drinkers there. That don't
do for you and me, Juniper. `This bottle's the sun of our table.' Ha,
ha!--a capital song that!"

Lady Oldfield sank on her knees, and could not repress her sobs.

"Who's crying?" exclaimed Frank. "Is it Mary? Poor Mary! She loved me
once--didn't she? My poor mother loved me once--didn't she? Why don't
she love me now? Where's my mother now?"

"Here I am--here's your mother--your own loving mother--my Frank--my
darling boy!" burst from the lips of the agonised parent.

She flung herself down on her knees beside the bed. He stared at her,
but his ramblings went off the next moment to something else. Then
there was a pause, and he sank back. Lady Oldfield took the opportunity
to send up a fervent prayer. He caught the half-whispered words, and
sat up. He looked for the moment so collected, so much himself, that
his mother's lips parted with joyful astonishment, and she gasped,--

"He knows us--his reason is restored!"

The next moment she saw her sad mistake.

"How funny!" cried the poor patient; "there's our old parson praying.
Poor old parson!--he tried to make me a teetotaller. It wouldn't do,
Jacob. Ah, Jacob, never mind me. You're a jolly good fellow, but you
don't understand things. Give us a song. What shall it be? `Three
jolly potboys drinking at the "Dragon."' What's amiss? I'm quite
well--never was better in my life. How d'ye do, captain?"

These last words he addressed to his fathe