"Oh, yes, you will!" returned Frank, cheerfully. "You'll come round all right."
"I hope so, Frank, but sometimes as I lie here in the middle of the night, it seems as though it would soon be all over with me."
"Never fear, Bert, you'll live to be an old man yet, see if you don't."
Bert was silent for a while as if thinking just how he would say something that was on his mind. Then turning to Frank, and, looking earnestly into his face, he asked:
"Frank, do you love Jesus?"
Frank started at the question, the blood mounted to his forehead, and his head dropped. He seemed reluctant to reply, and it was some time before he answered, almost in a whisper:
"I'm afraid I don't, Bert."
A look of sorrow came over Bert's countenance, but was quickly dissipated by one of hope, and despite the pain the utterance of every word gave him he took Frank's hand between both of his, and pressing it affectionately, said:
"Dear, dear Frank, you will love Him, won't you?"
Frank's sturdy frame trembled with the emotion he strove hard to suppress; his lips quivered so that he could not have spoken if he would, and at length, unable to control himself any longer, he fell on his knees at the bedside, and burying his face in his hands burst into tears.