“Can we see him?” asked Mrs. Birtwell.

“The doctor will not think it best,” replied the man.  “He has had a pretty hard night, but, the worst is over.  We must keep him quiet to-day.”

“In the morning can I see him?” asked Ethel lifting her eyes, half blinded by tears, to the man’s face.

“Yes; I think I can say yes,” was the reply.

“How soon?”

“Come at ten o’clock.”

“You’ll let me call and ask about him this evening, won’t you?”

“Oh yes, and you will get a good report, I am sure.”

The care and help and wise consideration received in the Home by Mr. Ridley, while passing through the awful stages of his mania, had probably saved his life.  The fits of frenzy were violent, so overwhelming him with phantom terrors that in his wild and desperate struggles to escape the fangs of serpents and dragons and the horrid crew of imaginary demons that crowded his room and pressed madly upon him he would, but for the restraint to which he was subjected, have thrown himself headlong from a window or bruised and broken himself against the wall.

It was the morning of the second day after Mr. Ridley entered the Home.  He had so far recovered as to be able to sit up in his room, a clean and well ventilated apartment, neatly furnished and with an air of home comfort about it.  Two or three pictures hung on the walls, one of them representing a father sitting with a child upon each knee and the happy mother standing beside them.  He had looked at this picture until his eyes grew dim.  Near it was an illuminated text:  “Without me ye can do nothing.”

There came, as he sat gazing at the sweet home-scene, the beauty and tenderness of which had gone down into his heart, troubling its waters deeply, a knock at the door.  Then the matron, accompanied by one of the lady managers of the institution, came in and made kind inquiries as to his condition.  He soon saw that this lady was a refined and cultivated Christian woman, and it was not long before he felt himself coming under a new influence and all the old desires and purposes long ago cast away warming again into life and gathering up their feeble strength.

Gradually the lady led him on to talk to her of himself as he would have talked to his mother or his sister.  She asked him of his family, and got the story of his bereavement, his despair and his helplessness.  Then she sought to inspire him with new resolutions, and to lead him to make a new effort.

“I will be a man again,” he exclaimed, at last, rising to this declaration under the uplifting and stimulating influences that were around him.

Then the lady answered him in a low, earnest, tender voice that trembled with the burden of its great concern: 

“Not in your own strength.  That is impossible.”

His lips dropped apart.  He looked at her strangely.