r, who was gazing at him in
blank misery.

And was it to be always so? Was he to pass out of the world into
eternity thus--thrilling the hearts of those who heard him with
bitterest agony? No; there came a change. Another day, the remedies
had begun to tell on the patient. The fever gradually left him. The
fire had faded from his eye, the hectic from his cheek. And now father
and mother, one on either side, bent over him. Lady Oldfield read from
the blessed Book the parable of the Prodigal Son. She thought that
Frank heard her, for there was on his face a look of mingled surprise,
pleasure, and bewilderment. Then no one spoke for a while. Nothing was
heard but the ticking of Lady Oldfield's watch, which stood in its case
on the dressing-table. Again the poor mother opened the same precious
Gospel of Saint Luke, and read out calmly and clearly the parable of the
Pharisee and the Publican. Then she knelt by the bed and prayed that
her boy might come with the publican's deep contrition to his God,
trusting in the merits of his Saviour. There was a whispered sound from
those feeble lips. She could just distinguish the words, "To me a
sinner." They were all, but she blessed God for them. An hour later,
and the doctor came. There was no hope in his eye, as he felt the
pulse.

"What report?" murmured Sir Thomas. The doctor shook his head.

"Oh, tell me--is he dying?" asked the poor mother.

"He is sinking fast," was the reply.

"Can nothing restore him?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, Frank--darling Frank," appealed his mother, in a whisper of
agonised entreaty, "let me have one word--one look to tell me you know
me."

The weary eyes opened, and a faint smile seemed to speak of
consciousness.

"Hear me--hear me, my beloved child," she said again. "Christ Jesus
came into the world to save sinners. Jesus died for you. Jesus loves
you still. Look to him--believe in him. He is able to save you even
now."

Again the eyes slowly opened. But the dying glaze was over them. A
troubled look came across the brow, and then a faint smile. The lips
opened, but could frame no words for a while. Lady Oldfield put her ear
close to those parted lips. They spoke now, but only three short words,
very slowly and feebly, "Jesus--Mother--Mary." Then all was over.

So died Frank Oldfield. Was there hope in his death? Who shall say?
That heart-broken mother clung, through years of wearing sorrow, to the
faint hope tha