"Well, Jacob, where's the powder-flask? Why, man, what's scared your wits out of you? You haven't seen a boggart, as you tell me they call a ghost in Lancashire?"

"I've seen what's worse nor ten thousand boggarts, Mayster Frank," said Jacob, sorrowfully.

"And pray what may that be?" asked his master.

"Why, mayster, I've seen what's filled scores of homes and hearts with boggarts. I've seen the bottles as holds the drink--the strong drink as ruins millions upon millions."

Frank started as if pierced by a sudden sting. His colour went and came. He walked hastily a step or two towards the house, and then turned back.

"And pray, my friend Jacob," he said, with a forced a.s.sumption of gaiety, "why should my little bottle of spirits be worse for you than ten thousand boggarts?"

"Oh, Mayster Frank, Mayster Frank," was the reply, "just excuse me, and hearken to me one minute. I thought when I left my home, where the drink had drowned out all as was good, as I should never love any one any more. I thought as I'd try and get through the world without heart at all--but it wasn't to be. The captain found a soft place in my heart, and I loved him. But that were nothing at all to the love I've had to yourself, Mayster Frank. I loved you afore you saved my life, and I've loved you better nor my own life ever since you saved it. And oh, I can't abide to see you throw away health and strength, and your good name and all, for the sake of that wretched drink as'll bring you to misery and beggary and shame. Oh, don't--dear mayster, don't--don't keep the horrid poison in your house. It's poison to you, as I've seen it poison to scores and scores, eating out manhood, withering out womanhood, crushing down childhood, shrivelling up babyhood. I'll live for you, Mayster Frank, work for you, slave for you, wage or no wage-- ay, I'll die for you, if need be--only do, do give up this cursed, ruinous, body and soul-destroying drink."

"Jacob, I will--I will!" cried his master, deeply touched. "Every word you say is true. I'm a miserable, worthless wretch. I don't deserve the love and devotion of a n.o.ble lad like you."

"Nay, mayster--don't say so," cried Jacob; "but oh, if you'd only sign the pledge, and be an out-and-out gradely teetottaller, it'd be the happiest day of my life."

"Well, Jacob, I'll see about the signing. I daresay I shall have to do it. But you may depend upon me. I'll turn over a new leaf. There--if it'll be any pleasure to you--you may take all that's left in my cupboard, and smash away at the bottles, as good Mr Oliphant did."

Jacob needed no second permission. Ale, wine, and spirit-bottles were brought out--though but few were left that had not been emptied.

However, empty or full, they fell in a few moments before the energetic blows of the delighted Jacob Poole.

"You'll never repent it," he said to his master.

But, alas! he did not know poor Frank, who did repent it--and bitterly, too. The sudden generosity which dictated the sacrifice was but a momentary flash. Frank would have given a great deal could he have recalled the act. But what was to be done? He could not, for very shame, lay in a fresh stock at present; and, equally, he could not resolve to cross his miserable appet.i.te. So he devised a plan by which he could still indulge in the drink, and yet keep Jacob Poole completely in the dark; for, alas! it was becoming less and less painful to him to breathe in an atmosphere of deception. There was a small cottage not far from Frank's dwelling. It had belonged to a labouring man, who had bought a small piece of ground with his hard earnings, had fenced it round, and built the cottage on it. This man, when "the diggins" broke out in Melbourne, sold his little property for a third of its value to a worthless fellow, whose one great pa.s.sion was a love for the drink.

Through this man Frank was able to obtain a constant supply of the pernicious stimulant. He would call at the house in the evening, and bring home in his pockets a flask or two of spirits, which he could easily keep out of the sight of Jacob and his housekeeper. But though he could conceal the drink, he could not conceal its effects. Again and again he became intoxicated--at first slightly so, and then more and more grossly and openly--till poor Jacob, wearied out and heart-sick, retired from Frank's service, and obtained work from Mr Abraham Oliphant in his store at Adelaide.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

AN UNHAPPY SURPRISE.

The half-year's remittance came in due time, but Frank was quite unable to pay the 100 loan. Ruin was now staring him in the face. Tradesmen were clamorous, rent and wages were unpaid, and he was getting into a state of despair, when, to his great and unspeakable joy, a letter arrived one morning announcing that a legacy of 500, left him by an old lady--his G.o.dmother--would be paid into his account at the Adelaide Bank. Here was, indeed, a reprieve. In a transport of grat.i.tude he threw himself on his knees, and gave thanks to G.o.d for this unlooked-for help. Then he lost not a moment, but rode at once into Adelaide, and went first to the bank, where he ascertained that the money had been paid in. Then he called on his creditors and discharged their bills.

And last of all he went to Hubert Oliphant and repaid the loan of the 100, with the interest.

"Oh, Hubert," he said, "I can't tell you how thankful and grateful I feel for this relief. I was getting into hopeless difficulties. I was at my wits' end what to do. I felt like a miserable slave, just as if I was walking in irons; and now I could do nothing but shout all the way home, I feel so light and free!"

"I don't doubt it," said his friend. "But you were talking just now about being thankful. Won't you let it be more than mere words? Won't you show, dear Frank, that you really are grateful to G.o.d?"

"I have," replied the other. "I thanked G.o.d on my knees for his goodness as soon as I got the letter."

"I'm truly rejoiced to hear it. And now, what do you mean to _do_?"

"To _do_? Why, what should I do?"

"Does not your own conscience tell you, Frank?"

"Ah, I suppose you mean, give up the drink altogether. Well, I intend to do it--and at once too."

"And will you ask for strength where you know it can be found?"

"Yes," said Frank, grasping the other's hand warmly; "I promise you I will."

"And what about the pledge?" pursued Hubert, with a loving, entreating smile.

"Ah, that pledge! You can never let me rest about the pledge. I see you're afraid to trust me."

"Dear Frank, is there not a cause? Can you trust yourself?"

"Yes I think I can this time--especially if I pray for help."

Hubert sighed.

"By the way," he said, "I was nearly forgetting that I have a little note for you from Mary, which came to-day in a letter to myself. Here it is."

The note was brief and constrained in its tone, though kind. It was as follows:--

"DEAR FRANK,--I wrote to you by the last mail, and just send a few lines now in Hubert's letter. I can scarce tell how to write. I do not know whether to hope or fear, whether I dare venture to believe that I shall ever see you again with joy. O Frank, I have dreadful misgivings. Miserable rumours come across the sea to make all our hearts sick. Will you not at once and for ever renounce what has been the occasion of sin and disgrace to yourself and of misery to us both?

Will you not go to the Strong for strength, and cast yourself at once on him? I cannot write more now, for I am almost broken-hearted. I shall not cease to pray for you.--Yours, MARY OLIPHANT."

Frank hastily thrust the note into his pocket after reading it, and hurried home. There he shut-to his door, and flung himself on his knees. He prayed to be forgiven his sin, and that he might live a steady and sober life for the time to come. He rose up comforted and satisfied. He felt he had done a duty. He was resolved to become a water-drinker, to pay no more visits to the man at the cottage, and to keep no intoxicating drinks in his house. Mary's letter had touched him to the quick; he saw how nearly he had lost her; he felt that the stand must be made now or never. But yet he had in no way pledged himself to total abstinence. True, he had prayed to be kept sober; but had his heart fully and sincerely desired what his lips had prayed for? Alas, it is to be feared not; for it is no difficult thing to delude ourselves in the matter of prayer. It is easy, when we have sinned, and before the next strong temptation to the same sin presents itself, to pray against repeating it, and so to give a sop to our conscience, without having either the heart's desire or the honest resolve to abstain from that sin. And it is equally easy to pray that we may not fall into a sin, and to have a sort of half sincere desire to that effect; and yet, at the same time, to be quite unwilling to avoid those steps which, though they are not themselves the sin, yet almost of necessity and inevitably lead to it. So it was with poor Frank, but he did not think so; on the contrary, he was now quite persuaded that his resolution was like a rock, that he was thoroughly fortified against yielding to his old temptations, and that he should never again deviate from the strictest sobriety. Yet he would not sign the pledge, and so put a check between himself and those circ.u.mstances and occasions which might lead or surprise him into a transgression. He meant to be a total abstainer at _present_, but he was quite as resolved not to sign the pledge.

Things were in this state. He had rigidly kept himself to non- intoxicants for more than a month after the receipt of Mary's note. He had paid his way and observed a strict economy; he was getting back his character as a steady and sober man; and many looked on with approbation and applauded him. There were, however, three at least in the colony who had but little faith in him as yet; these were Hubert, Mr Oliphant, and Jacob Poole.

Things were in this state when one morning, as Frank was riding slowly down Hindley Street, he noticed a man, whose face and whole appearance seemed very familiar to him, talking to a shopman at his door. Just as he came opposite, the man turned fully towards him--there could be no longer any doubt.

"What! Juniper; Juniper Graves--you here!"

"What! Mr Frank, my dear young master! Do I really see you once more?

Ah, how I've longed for this suspicious day; but it's come at last."

"Ah, I see it's just yourself," said Frank, laughing. "Give us your hand, my good fellow. But what has brought you out here? It looks like old times in the dear old country seeing you again."

"Why, Mr Frank, the truth's the truth, and it's no use hiding it, though 'self-praise is no accommodation,' as the proverb says. You see, sir, I couldn't be happy when you was gone. I missed my dear young master so much. People wondered what was amiss with me, when they found me, as they often did, in a state of refraction. 'Why, Juniper,' they'd say, 'what's amiss? Are you grieving after Mr Frank?' I could only nod dissent; my heart was too full. But I mustn't be too long, a- keeping you too, sir, under the vertebral rays of an Australian sun. I just couldn't stand it no longer--so I gets together my little savings, pays my own pa.s.sage, sails across the trackless deep to the southern atmosphere--and here I am, to take my chance for good fortune or bad fortune, if I may only now and then have a smile from my dear young master Mr Frank, and gaze once more on those familiar ligaments which I loved so much in dear old England. Mr Frank, it's the simple truth, I a.s.sure you. With all my failings and interjections, you'd never any cause to doubt my voracity."

"You're a warm-hearted, good fellow, I know," said Frank, wiping his eyes, "or you never could have made such a sacrifice on my account. But what do you mean to do with yourself? Have you got into any situation or employment?"

"Oh no, sir. I felt sure--that is to say, I hoped that I should find you out, for you'd be sure to be well-known in the colony, and that I might have the irresponsible happiness of serving you again, either as groom, or in some other capacity."

It so happened that Frank was parting with his man, so Juniper at once stepped into the place. Had his master known how matters really were, he would not have been so ready to take his old tempter into his house.

The fact was, that Juniper Graves had gone to such lengths of misbehaviour after Frank's departure for Australia, that Sir Thomas had been compelled to dismiss him; feeling, however, sorry for the man, as the favourite servant of his absent son, the squire had not noised abroad his misdemeanours; so that when Juniper quitted Greymoor Park, he did so apparently of his own choice. He had contrived, while in the baronet's service, to appropriate to himself many small valuables of a portable character. These he managed safely to dispose of, and with the money purchased an outfit and paid his pa.s.sage to South Australia. His shallow brains had been fired with the idea of making his fortune at the diggings. He felt sure that, if he could find Frank Oldfield, he should soon ingratiate himself with him, and that he might then take advantage of his good-nature and of his intemperance to gather to himself sufficient funds to enable him to start as gold-digger. A wretched compound of vanity, selfishness, and shrewdness, where his own interests were concerned, he had no other view as regarded his young master than to use him as a ladder by which he might himself mount to fortune. A week later, and Juniper Graves was established as general man-servant at Frank Oldfield's cottage in the hills.

"And pray, Mrs Watson," he asked, on the evening of his arrival, "whereabouts is one to find the cellar in these outlandish premises?"

"Why, much in the same place as you'd look for it in England," was the answer; "only here you'll find nothing but cellar walls, for our master's turned teetotaller."

Juniper replied to this by opening his eyes very wide, and giving utterance to a prolonged whistle.