In ignorance of Faber’s mood, whether he mourned over his harshness, or justified himself in resentment, Dorothy could but wait, and turned herself again to think what could be done for the consolation of her friend.

Could she, knowing her prayer might be one which God would not grant, urge her to pray!  For herself, she knew, if there was a God, what she desired must be in accordance with His will; but if Juliet cried to him to give her back her husband, and He did not, would not the silent refusal, the deaf ear of Heaven, send back the cry in settled despair upon her spirit?  With her own fear Dorothy feared for her friend.  She had not yet come to see that, in whatever trouble a man may find himself, the natural thing being to make his request known, his brother may heartily tell him to pray.  Why, what can a man do but pray?  He is here—­helpless; and his Origin, the breather of his soul, his God, may be somewhere.  And what else should he pray about but the thing that troubles him?  Not surely the thing that does not trouble him?  What is the trouble there for, but to make him cry?  It is the pull of God at his being.  Let a man only pray.  Prayer is the sound to which not merely is the ear of the Father open, but for which that ear is listening.  Let him pray for the thing he thinks he needs:  for what else, I repeat, can he pray?  Let a man cry for that in whose loss life is growing black:  the heart of the Father is open.  Only let the man know that, even for his prayer, the Father will not give him a stone.  But let the man pray, and let God see to it how to answer him.  If in his childishness and ignorance he should ask for a serpent, he will not give him a serpent.  But it may yet be the Father will find some way of giving him his heart’s desire.  God only knows how rich God is in power of gift.  See what He has done to make Himself able to give to His own heart’s desire.  The giving of His Son was as the knife with which He would divide Himself amongst His children.  He knows, He only, the heart, the needs, the deep desires, the hungry eternity, of each of them all.  Therefore let every man ask of God, Who giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not—­and see at least what will come of it.

But he will speak like one of the foolish if he say thus:  “Let God hear me, and give me my desire, and I will trust in Him.”  That would be to tempt the Lord his God.  If a father gives his children their will instead of his, they may well turn on him again and say:  “Was it then the part of a father to give me a scorpion because, not knowing what it was, I asked for it?  I besought him for a fancied joy, and lo! it is a sorrow for evermore!”

But it may be that sometimes God indeed does so, and to such a possible complaint has this reply in Himself:  “I gave thee what thou wouldst, because not otherwise could I teach the stiff-necked his folly.  Hadst thou been patient, I would have made the thing a joy ere I gave it thee; I would have changed the scorpion into a golden beetle, set with rubies and sapphires.  Have thou patience now.”