"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 God?"

"I have," replied the other. "I thanked God 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 circumstances 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 passage, 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 assure 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 passage 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.

"Teetottaller!" at last he exclaimed; "and pray how long has he taken to this new fashion?"

"Not many weeks," was the reply.

"And how many weeks do you think he'll stick to it?"

"A great many, I hope," replied the housekeeper; "for I'm sure there's neither pleasure nor profit where the drink gets the master. It's driven poor Jacob away."

"And who may poor Jacob be?"

"Why, as nice, and steady, and hearty a lad as ever I set eyes on, Mr Graves. He was master's first groom and gardener. He came out in the same ship with master and Mr Hubert Oliphant. Mr Frank saved Jacob from being drowned, and the young man stayed with him here, and worked for him with all his heart till the drink drove him away, for he was a teetotaller, as he used to say of himself, to the back-bone."

"Well, Mrs Watson," said Graves, "it isn't for me to be contradicting you, but, for my part, I never could abide these teetottallers. What with their tea and their coffee, their lemonade and ginger beer, and other wishy-washy, sour stuffs—why, the very thought of them's enough to cause an involution of one's suggestive organs."

But what was he to do? Drink there was none in the house, and he was too crafty to make any direct request for its introduction; but, "as sure as my name's Juniper," he said to himself, "Mr Frank shall break off this nonsense afore I'm a month older; it won't suit him, I know, and I'm certain sure it won't suit me."

So he submitted to the unfermented beverages of the establishment with as good a grace as he could, turning over in his mind how he should accomplish his object. He had not to wait long. The drunken cottager who had formerly supplied Frank with spirits, was of course not best pleased to lose so good a customer, for he had taken care to make a very handsome profit on the liquors which he had supplied. It so happened that this man lighted on Juniper one day near his master's house, and a very few minutes' conversation made the groom acquainted with the former connection between this cottager and Frank Oldfield.

"Ho, ho!" laughed Juniper to himself. "I have it now. Good-bye to teetottalism. We'll soon put an end to him."

So bidding his new acquaintance keep himself out of sight and hold his tongue, for he'd soon manage to get back his master's custom to him, Juniper purchased a few bottles of spirits on his own account, and stowed them safely away in his sleeping-place. A few days after this transaction, Frank bid his groom prepare himself for a ride of some length. It was a blazing hot day, and when they had gone some fifteen miles or more, principally in the open, across trackless plains, they struck up suddenly into a wooded pass, and Frank, giving the bridle to Juniper, threw himself on to the ground, under some trees, and lay panting with the excessive heat.

"Stiff work this, Juniper," he said. "Just hang the bridles somewhere, and come and get a little shade. It's like being roasted alive."

"Ay, sir," replied the other, "it's hot work, and thirsty work too; only you see, sir, total abstainers ain't at liberty to quench their thirst like ordinary mortals."

"Why not?" asked his master, laughing. "I hear the sound of water not far-off; and I don't doubt there's enough to quench the thirst of all the teetotallers in the colony."

"Phew!" replied Juniper, "it'd be madness to drink cold water in the heat we're in. Why, I'm in such a state of respiration myself, sir, that it'd be little better than courting self-destruction if I were to drink such chilly quotations."

"Perhaps so," replied Frank; "certainly it isn't always safe, I believe, to drink cold water when you're very hot; but we must be content with what we can get, and wait till we're a little cooler."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the other, in the blandest of voices; "but I've had the sagacity to bring with me a little flask of something as'll air the cold water famously. Here it is, sir; you can use the cover as a cup." He was soon at the stream and back again. "Now, sir, shall I just mix you a little? it's really very innocent—as immaculate as a lamb. You must take it as a medicine, sir; you'll find it an excellent stomach-ache, as the doctors say."

"I'm more afraid of it's giving me the heart-ache, Juniper," replied his master; "but a very little in the water will certainly perhaps be wise. There, thank you; hold—hold—you're helping me, I suppose, as you love me." The cup, however, was drained, and then a second was taken before they started again; and twice more before they reached home they halted, and Juniper's flask was produced and emptied before they finally remounted.

"I have him," chuckled Graves to himself. "I've hooked my trout; and he only wants a little playing, and I'll have him fairly landed."

Alas! it was too true. Frank was in skilful hands; for Juniper had a double object: he wanted to indulge his own appetite for the drink at his master's expense; and he also wanted to get into his clutches such a sum of money as would enable him to make a fair start at the diggings on the Melbourne side of the Australian continent. His friend of the cottage, through whom he obtained his supply of spirits, was well acquainted with many of the returned diggers, and gave him full information on all subjects about which he inquired connected with the gold-digging. His object in the first place was to get as much of his master's money into his own possession as he could do without direct robbery; his next object was to keep his master out of every one else's clutches but his own. So he laid himself out in every way to keep Frank amused and occupied, and to leave him as little time as possible for reflection. The spirit-bottle was never allowed to be empty or out of the way; Juniper could produce it at a moment's notice. He took care to do so with special dexterity whenever he could engage his master in a game of cards. Juniper was an accomplished gambler; he had often played with his young master when they were out alone on fishing or shooting expeditions at Greymoor Park. Frank used then to lose money to him in play occasionally, but Juniper was always wily enough not to push his advantage too far—he never would allow himself to win more than small sums. But now he had a different purpose on hand; and so, from time to time, he would draw on his master to play for hours together, keeping the drink going all the while, and managing himself to preserve a sufficient sobriety to prevent his losing his self-possession and defeating his end in view. Thus, by degrees, Frank found his money melting fast and faster away. If he complained of this to Juniper, that worthy either assured him he was mistaken, or that the money had only gone to defray the necessary expenses of the establishment; or else he laughed, and said, "Well, sir, you didn't play as well as usual last night. I suppose your luck was bad, or your head wasn't very clear. You lost more than usual, but you'll win it all back; and, after all, I should never think of keeping it if you're really in want of it at any time."

"Juniper, you're a good fellow," said his poor miserable dupe; "you mean well—I know you do. I'm sure you wouldn't deceive or rob me."

"Me deceive! me rob, Mr Frank! No indeed, sir; I hope I've too much duplicity to do anything of the kind. Why, didn't I come out here just because I'd such a hampering after you, Mr Frank? No; I trust, indeed, that you'll never ascertain such hard thoughts of me for a moment."

"Never fear," was his master's reply; "I believe you love me too well, Juniper, to wrong me."

But there was one who did not think so. Hubert Oliphant had discovered, with dismay, that Frank's new servant was none other than the reprobate groom of Greymoor Park. He had called as soon as he heard of it, and implored his friend to dismiss Graves from his service. But Frank would not hear of such a thing. He dwelt on his old servant's affection, self-sacrifice, and devotion to himself; he palliated his faults, and magnified his virtues; so that poor Hubert had to retire baffled and heart-sick. There remained but one other effort to be made, and that was through Jacob Poole, who was informed by Hubert of Juniper's character. Jacob did not decline the duty, though the service was both a difficult and delicate one; for there was a decision and simple earnestness about his character which made him go forward, without shrinking, to undertake whatever he was persuaded he was rightly called upon to do.

It was on a lovely summer's evening that Jacob made his way, with a heavy heart, to his former master's cottage. How he had once loved that place! and how he loved it still!—only there had fallen a blight on all that was beautiful, and that was the blight of sin. As he approached the house, he heard singing from more than one voice. He drew near the verandah; and there, by a little round table—on which was a bottle and tumblers, and a box of cigars—sat, or rather lolled, Frank and his man, smoking, drinking, and playing cards.

"And so it's you, Jacob, my boy!" cried Frank; "it's quite an age since I've seen you; the boggarts haven't kept you away, I hope?"

"No, mayster, it's not the boggarts; it's my own heart as has kept me away."

"What, Jacob! you've fallen in love with some fair maiden—is that it?"

"No, Mr Frank; I haven't fallen in love with any young wench, and there's some of the other sex as I'm still less like to fall in love with."

"Oh, you mean my friend Juniper here! Well, I'm sorry any one should fall foul of poor Juniper; he's an old servant of mine, Jacob, and he's come all the way over from England on purpose to serve me again."

"I'm thinking," said Jacob, who had too much Lancashire downrightness and straightforwardness to use any diplomacy, or go beating about the bush, "as it's very poor service ye'll get from him, Mr Frank, if I may be allowed to speak out my mind. He's drawn you into the mire again already, that's plain enough. Oh, dear mayster, I cannot hold my tongue—I must and I will speak plain to you. If you let this man serve you as he's doing now, he'll just make a tool on you for his own purposes, till he's squeezed every drop of goodness out of you, and left you like a dry stick as is fit for nothing but the burning."

It is impossible to describe adequately the changes which passed over the countenance of Juniper Graves while this brief conversation was being carried on. Rage, malice, fear, hatred—all were mingled in his mean and cunning features. But he controlled himself; and at last spoke with an assumed smoothness, which, however, could not quite hide the passion that made his voice tremulous.

"Really, sir, I don't know who this young man is—some escaped convict, I should think; or American savage, I should imagine, by his talk. I really hope, sir, you're not going to listen to this wild sort of garbage. If it wasn't demeaning myself, and making too much of the impertinent young scoundrel, I'd bring an action against him for reformation of character."

"There, there, Juniper," said Frank, motioning him to be quiet; "don't distress yourself. Jacob's prejudiced; he don't really know you, or he'd speak differently. You must be friends; for I know you both love me, and would do anything to serve me. Come, Jacob, give Juniper your hand; take my word for it, he's an honest fellow."

But Jacob drew back.

"I know nothing about his honesty," he said; "but I do know one thing, for Mr Hubert's told me—he's led you into sin at home, Mayster Frank, and he'll lead you into sin again here; and he's just cutting you off from your best friends and your brightest hopes; and I've just come over once more to beg and beseech you, by all as you holds dear, to have nothing no more to do with yon drunken profligate. I'd rayther have said this to yourself alone, but you've forced me to say it now, and it's better said so nor left unsaid altogether. And now I'll bid you good evening, for it's plain I can do little good if I tarry longer." He turned and left them: as he did so, Frank's last look was one of mingled anger, shame, remorse, despair; Juniper's was one of bitter, deadly, fiery hatred.

But other thoughts soon occupied the mind of the tempter. It was plain to him that, if he was to keep a firm hold on his young master, he must get him, as speedily as possible, out of the reach of his old friends. How was he to accomplish this? At last a scheme suggested itself.

"What say you, Mr Frank," he asked suddenly one morning, when his master was evidently rather gloomily disposed—"what say you to a tramp to the diggings? wouldn't it be famous? We could take it easy; there's first-rate fishing in the Murray, I hear. We could take our horses, our fishing-tackle, our guns, our pannikins, and our tether-ropes; we must have plenty of powder and shot, and then we shall be nice and independent. If you'd draw out, sir, what you please from the bank, I'll bring what I've got with me. I've no doubt I shall make a first- rate digger, and we'll come back again with our fortunes made."

"It's rather a random sort of scheme," said his master; "but I'm sick of this place and of my present life. Anything for a bit of a change—so let's try the diggings."

A few days after Jacob's visit to the cottage, it was rumoured that Frank Oldfield and his man had left the colony. Hubert called at the place and found that they were indeed gone, and that it was quite uncertain when they purposed to return.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE LONE BUSH.

It was about a fortnight after Hubert's call at the cottage that a bullock-driver, dusty and bronzed, came into the office at King William Street, and asked to speak to Mr Oliphant's nephew.

"I suppose, sir, you're Mr Hubert Oliphant," said the man.

"I am."

"Well, I've just come in from the bush. It's four days now since I left Tanindie—it's a sheep-station down on the Murray. Thomas Rowlands, as shepherds there, asked me to come and tell you that there's a young gent called Scholfield, or Oldfield, or some such name, as is dangerously ill in a little log-hut near the river. The chap as came down with him has just cut and run, and left him to shift for himself; and he's likely to have a bad time of it, as he seems to have some sort of fever, and there's no doctor nearer than forty miles."

Hubert was greatly shocked.

"And how came the shepherd to think about sending to us?" he asked.

"Oh, the poor young man's been raving and talking about you scores of times; and Mr Abraham's name's well-known all over the colony."

Hubert went to his uncle with the information.

"What can we do?" he asked; "I'll gladly go to him, if you can spare me for a few days."

Jacob Poole, who was in the office, and had heard the conversation, now interposed,—

"Oh, Mayster Oliphant, let me go to him. I'm more used to roughing it nor you. I'll see to poor Mayster Frank. I can't forget what he's done for me; and maybe, if God spares him, and that rascal Juniper Graves keeps out of the road, he'll do well yet."

This plan commended itself to Mr Oliphant and his nephew, and it was resolved that Jacob should go at once. His master furnished him with what he needed, and bade him send word to him if he should find himself in any trouble or difficulty.

"You'll find him out easy enough," said the bullock-driver to Mr Oliphant, "for there's a party of mounted police setting off this afternoon for the Murray, and the crossing's only about two miles lower down than the hut. If he as goes joins the police, he'll be there in half the time it took me to come up."

So it was arranged that Jacob should start immediately.

"And never mind," said Mr Oliphant, "about the time of your coming back. If you can be of any service to your poor young master by staying on with him, do so. And keep with him altogether if he wishes to take you again into his service. It may keep him from the drink, now that vagabond's taken himself off, though I'll be bound he hasn't gone empty- handed. Should you wish, however, Jacob, to come back again to me, either now or at any future time, I'll find you a place, for I can always make an opening for a stanch total abstainer."

Jacob's preparations were soon made. He furnished himself with all necessaries, and then joined the party of police on a stout little bush horse, and started that afternoon on his journey. It was drawing towards the evening of the second day after their departure from Adelaide, when they came in sight of the river Murray, where a long shelving bank of reeds, like a small forest, intervened between themselves and the river. The country all round them was wild and wooded, with little to remind of civilised man except the tracks of bullock-drays.

"And here we part," said the leader of the police. "I've no doubt you'll soon reach the hut you're seeking if you keep along the bank of the river; but be sure you don't lose sight of that."

"Perhaps," said one of the men, "there may be some one not far-off who could show him his way, so that he'd lose no time. Shall I cooey?"

"Ay, do," said the captain. So the man uttered a prolonged "Coo-oo-oo- ee!" and all paused. A faint answering "Cooey" was heard in the distance. Then a second "Cooey" was answered by a nearer response, and soon after a stout-looking bushman made his appearance.

"Can you take this young man to a hut about two miles up the river, where there's a young Englishman lying sick?" asked the captain.

"Ay, surely I can," was the reply. "I've only left it an hour since."

So Jacob took a hearty farewell of his escort, and in another minute was following his new guide.

"A relation of the young gent's, I guess?" asked the bushman.

"No, only an old servant. He saved my life, and I want to help save his, please God."

"You'll not do much towards saving it if you give him the same sort of medicine the last chap did," remarked the other drily.

"The drink, you mean," said Jacob. "No; I'm not likely to do anything of the sort, for I'm an out-and-out total abstainer."

"I'm right glad to hear it; give me your hand, friend," cried the bushman, treating him, at the same time, to a grip which made his fingers tingle. "I wish we'd more of your sort among us. It'd be better for 'em, body and soul."

"Then, of course, you're an abstainer yourself."

"To be sure I am. I've four brothers, and not one of us has ever tasted any intoxicating drink."

"And do you live hereabouts?" inquired Jacob.

"Yes; my father's head-shepherd at Tanindie. We all live together, my mother and all."

"And you find you can do your work without the drink?"

"Look there," said the other, stopping short, and baring his arm. "Feel that; some muscle there, I reckon. That muscle's grown on unfermented liquors. Me and my four brothers are all just alike. We never trouble the doctor, any of us."

"Ah!" said Jacob; "I've heard strange talk about 'can't do without wine;' 'can't do without beer;' 'can't do without spirits;' 'heat of the climate makes it needful to make up for wear and tear of body,' and so on. And then, I've seen a many shake their heads and say as young people can't do without a little now and then 'to brace up their nerves,' as they call it, 'and give a tone to the constitootion.' I've heard a deal of this talk in the old country."

"'Plenty gammon, plenty gammon,' all that, as the black fellows say," replied the other. "Truth is, people makes artificial wants, and then they must have artificial stimulants. We're no great scholars in our house, but we gets a good many books even out here in the bush, and reads them at odd times; and we've read a great deal of nonsense about young people wanting beer and wine, and such things. If people gets themselves into an unnatural state, they wants unnatural food. But where's the real need? I don't believe the world would suffer a pin if all the intoxicating drinks were thrown into the sea to-morrow. Indeed, I'm sure it would be a thousandfold better."

"I'm sure of the same," said Jacob. "But I suppose it isn't all of your trade as thinks so."

"No, indeed; more's the pity. There's plenty about us that loves their drink a vast deal too well. I can tell you strange tales about some of them. I've known hardworking fellows, that have kept sober all the year, go up at the year's end, with all they have saved, to Adelaide, and put it into the publican's hand, telling him, 'There, you keep that, and give me drink, as I calls for it, till I've drunk it all out.'"

"And I'll warrant," said Jacob, "as publicans'll not be particular as to a gallon or two about giving them the full worth of their brass."

"Not they, you may be very sure; and as soon as the publican has squeezed them dry, out they go, neck and crop."

"And don't that larn 'em better?" asked Jacob.

"Not a bit of it," replied his companion; "for there's no fool like a drunken fool. They'll do anything for a spree. They're like madmen when they go off with their wages. You may find three or four shepherds clubbing together. They'll call for champagne, and then for a pail. Then they'll knock the necks off the bottles, pour the champagne into the pail, and ladle it out with their pannikins as they sit round. And if that don't satisfy them, they'll add a bottle of brandy, or rum, or some other spirit. I think they're fairly crazy after the drink in this colony."

"I shouldn't be surprised," said Jacob. "It's much the same in most places in the old country."

"Here we are," said the young bushman, shortly after, as they made their way through the tangled trees and shrubs, and came upon a large-sized log-hut.

How strange it was, that solitary hut in that lone wilderness, and in view of the shining river! All around was wild and primitive; and fair in its negligent beauty as though it had never been disturbed by the hand of man. The hut was large and well-constructed, though now a little falling to decay. It was built of logs laid horizontally in order one above another, and rendered tolerably wind-proof by the moss and clay which served to fill up the crevices.

Into this primitive dwelling Jacob followed his guide. He was surprised at the air of comfort presented by the interior. Not that there was much to boast of in the way of furniture, but great pains and skill had evidently been used to give an air of snugness to the one long, desolate apartment of which the hut consisted. On a low, roughly-made bedstead lay poor Frank Oldfield, judiciously shielded from draughts by hangings of carefully arranged drapery. His various possessions lay around him, neatly piled up, or hung on the walls. And what struck Jacob with both pleasure and surprise, was a text in large printed characters on the wall—opposite the foot of the bed. The words of the text were: "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." Oh, what a marvellous power have the words of the blessed Bible to prove their own heavenly origin in circumstances like these! In a moment it was clear to Jacob that his master was in good hands. These words out of that volume which is the revelation of the God of love to poor guilty sinners, told him so with a force which no eloquence or assurance from human lips could strengthen. Yet there were other, and very pleasing, proofs also, for at the bed's head sat a middle-aged, kindly-looking woman, who was acting the part of nurse to the poor emaciated figure that lay on that couch of sickness.

"Who is it?" asked a feeble voice, as the newcomers entered the hut.

"An old servant, mother, of the gentleman's," answered the young bushman.

"What, Jacob Poole!" exclaimed Frank, raising himself up.

"There, don't worry or excite yourself," said the kind woman. "I'll prop you up a bit, but you mustn't talk too much. It'll only make you bad again."

Jacob came forward.

"Mr Frank," he said, "I've come over, as soon as I heard as you was badly, to do whatever I can for you. Mr Oliphant's let me come; and he and Mr Hubert's rare and vexed as you're so ill. So I'm to see as you want for nothing, and to let them know how you're coming on. And I'm bound to stay with you till you gets round again."

The poor patient held out his hand to Jacob, while the tears streamed down his face.

"You're all very good to me," he said; "too good, far better than I deserve. But I hope God may spare me to reward you, if I can. You see, Jacob, I'm brought very low. That rascal Juniper robbed me of fifty pounds, and deserted me when I was getting ill. He would have taken all my money, I've no doubt, if he'd only known where to find it. If it had not been for my kind nurse here, and her husband, I should not have been alive now."

Here he sank back, exhausted with the effort of speaking. He was sadly altered. His fine features were sunk and pinched, his cheeks blanched, and his lips cracked and swollen; while his beautiful hair, once his mother's pride, had fallen under the scissors of the shepherd's wife. He was about to speak again, when his nurse motioned Jacob to be seated, and said to her patient,—

"Now, sir, you must just keep silent, and let me tell all about your troubles to this young man. You see, it seems that Mr Oldfield and that man of his, who appears to be a regular scoundrel, came down and settled in this hut, to try a taste of 'bush' life, fishing and shooting, and the like. But, dear heart, it was all well enough for a day or two; but after a bit the young gentleman got weary of it. So they took to passing a good deal of their time in drinking and playing cards, I'm afraid. I hope, young man, you're not given to anything of the sort?"

"Me!" exclaimed Jacob; "no, ma'am; that's not in my line, I can assure you. It's the drink as parted my poor mayster and me afore. I'm a gradely total abstainer, and mean to be all the days of my life, please God."

"I'm heartily glad to hear it," said the good woman. "You'll do the young gentleman no harm then, I hope, but good. Well, as I was saying, when they'd been a long time at this drinking and card-playing, what with the heat, and what with the change in his way of living, the poor gentleman took ill; so what did that man of his do? Why, he looked after him for a day or so, and then he made pretence that he'd take one of the horses, and go and look for a doctor, or for some one who could come and give a help. But, bless you, he never cared about doctor, but went straight off with both the horses, and one of the guns, and all the powder and shot as was left, and whatever else he could carry; and it seems too, from what the gentleman says, that he's taken and robbed his master of fifty pounds."

"And how did you happen to light on him, and find out he was sick?" asked Jacob.

"Why, I was just going to tell you. My master and Dick—Dick's our youngest boy, you know—was looking after a stray sheep, when they comes up to this hut, and hears a strange moaning noise. They went in at once, and there was this young gentleman in a high fever, raving, and talking all sorts of wild things, and half dead for want of water. So my master goes back at once to our cottage and fetches me, and here I've been, off and on, ever since. It's a mercy my master found him when he did, or he must have died afore long."

Frank Oldfield nodded his head in assent, and held out his hand, first to the shepherd's wife, and then to Jacob. "And so you've come to stay a bit with your old master, Jacob. Thank God for that."

"Ay, that's right," said the good woman; "thank Him—you've cause to do so, I'm sure God seems nearer to us who live out in the bush, in one way. I mean, our mercies and blessings seem to come straighter like from his own hand when we've so few of our fellow-Creatures about us."

"Jacob," said his master earnestly, "I trust, if I'm spared, that I shall really turn over a new leaf, gradely, as you'd say. The drink has been my curse, my ruin, and almost my death. I'll give it up altogether, and sign the pledge, if God raises me up to health and strength again."

"Ay, do, mayster," replied the other; "it'll be the best thing you ever did in all your life."

The shepherd's wife was now able to delegate many of her kind offices to Jacob, who proved a most loving and tender nurse. In a few days their patient was able to sit up without difficulty, and, after a while, to leave the hut for the shepherd's comfortable cottage, to which he was conveyed on a litter of boughs by the stout arms of the shepherd and his sons. Here it was agreed that he should remain as a regular lodger, at a moderate remuneration for himself and Jacob, which his host and hostess were rather loath to accept, but the refusal of which they saw would give Frank Oldfield much pain. Jacob was his master's devoted attendant, watching over him as a mother over her child.

It was one fine afternoon, when Frank was better than usual, that he turned to Jacob in the midst of a walk, and said abruptly, "Jacob, should you like to go to the diggings?"

"Why, Mayster Frank," was the reply, "I've often thought I should just like to try my hand at it, for I was trained as a lad to pit-work. But I should never think of leaving you till you're all right again, nor then either, unless you'd wish it yourself."

"What made me ask you," said his master, "was this. My kind landlord's three eldest sons are going, as you know, to try their hands for three months or so at gold-digging. Now, if you'd like to go with them, it would be a real pleasure to me. You would go in capital company, as they are all stanch teetotallers, like yourself; and nothing would rejoice me more than to find you coming back with a bag full of nuggets."

"But what'll you do while I'm off, Mr Frank?"

"Oh, that's easily answered. My kind hostess, and her husband, and two youngest sons will be able to do all I want, as I'm getting well so fast; and I shall be glad of an excuse to stop here in this quiet place for a while, and not return to Adelaide. I can say, and say with truth, that I am waiting till you and your party come back from the diggings."

Jacob Poole had no objections to make; so in a few days the four young men had crossed the Murray, and were on their way to the gold-fields.

It is not necessary to describe in detail the history of the party from Tanindie during their stay at the diggings, but one or two scenes must be introduced which will further our story.

It was a calm Sabbath evening; the click of the pick, the rattle of the cradle, the splashing of the water-buckets—all were still. Outwardly the day had been kept strictly as a day of rest by all. Beneath a tall tree stood, in the dress of a minister of the gospel, a middle-aged but grey-headed man. A rough stool served him for a seat, and a few upturned buckets, supporting some loose planks, were appropriated to the few women and children, while the men stood behind these in various attitudes, but all very attentive; for in such a congregation as this there were none but willing listeners. Those who had no mind to the preaching simply pleased themselves, and stayed away. After the singing of a hymn, given out two lines at a time, for the minister alone possessed a hymn-book, a fervent prayer was offered up by the good man, at the commencement of which almost all the little company sank gently on their knees. A few stood, but all remained bareheaded till its conclusion. Then he drew forth his pocket Bible, and read the first chapter of the First Epistle of Peter, and took from it as his text the third, fourth, and fifth verses: "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time."

From these words he addressed his earnestly attentive congregation in the simplest language, but every word came from the heart, and made his hearers feel that he was not standing himself on one side, and bidding them go forward, but was beckoning to them to follow along the path on which he was already going before them. He spoke of the uncertainty of life, and they knew that he spoke the truth; for many who had come there to search for gold had been cut off in the midst of their labours. He spoke of the uncertainty of earthly gain and prosperity, and they knew that he spoke the truth; for many who had left home, and had sold all to come to these diggings, had returned beggars. He spoke of the emptiness of the earthly compared with the fulness of the heavenly inheritance, and bid them set eternity against time, the riches of heaven against the gold of the earth, the house of glory against their shifting tents, the rest of a home with God against their present wanderings, and many a sigh and tear escaped from lips and eyes that seldom spoke or looked except for earthly things. And then he told them of the blood of Christ that was shed for their souls, and must be infinitely more precious than corruptible silver or gold, and urged them never to rest satisfied till they could feel that they were truly the children of God and followers of Jesus; for what would it profit them if they gained the whole world and lost their own souls? Lastly, he pleaded with them to lose no time, but to come at once just as they were, and not any of them to hang back through fear or doubt; for the love of Jesus Christ was deep enough to swallow up the sins of them all, and was, like himself, "the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever." The simple service concluded with another hymn and prayer, and then all dispersed, silent and thoughtful. On Jacob Poole, who had been one of the congregation, the sermon of the good minister made a deep impression. He had often heard the gospel preached before, but it had never hitherto come home to his heart as a personal concern, as it did now. There was to him a reality about it such as he had never understood before. His heart was yearning for something; he felt that the gospel was that something, that it could satisfy his heart's cravings. All through the service, but for about half a minute, he had kept his eyes fixed on the preacher. He withdrew them for that half minute to glance round at a man who brushed past him and walked on. As he turned, the man averted his face. He thought it was a face not altogether strange to him, and yet he could not recall where he had seen it. But his eyes returned to the preacher, and other thoughts occupied his mind and heart. During the rest of that week he was ill at ease. Many thoughts came crowding in upon him as he worked vigorously in the hole assigned to him. Hitherto he had believed men sinners in the gross, and himself as bad but not worse than the general average. Now he began to know that he was really himself a sinner, whose transgressions of God's holy laws would bring upon him eternal death, unless he sought and found the only refuge. But was the gospel message really for him? Would Jesus, whom he had so long reverenced, yet never hitherto really loved, be still willing to receive him? He waited impatiently for the return of the Sabbath. It came at last, and Christ's ambassador was at his old place under the tree with words full of love and encouragement. At the end of his sermon, before retiring, he said,—

"If there is any one of you, my dear hearers, who is in any way troubled in conscience, or for any other reason would wish any conversation with me on religious subjects, I shall be only too happy to talk with him now in my tent."

No one spoke, and the good man went his way. But in a little while Jacob Poole followed him, and asked to be allowed to speak with him for a few minutes. He entered the minister's tent with a distressed and anxious countenance; but when he came away from the interview in which he had unburdened his sorrows, and laid open all his difficulties, there was a bright and happy look on his features, which spoke of a mind stayed on God and a heart at peace. Just as he was leaving the minister's tent, a swift, quiet step came behind him; he turned very quickly, and again his eyes fell on the same countenance which he had seen when a person brushed by him at the previous Sunday's service. Another moment, and the man had vanished in the dusk. Again he was puzzled. He could not at all remember where he had seen that face, and yet certainly he had seen it before. There was something forbidding and malicious in it, and a sort of dread crept over him. And yet he could not tell why he should fear. However, he resolved to be on his guard, for strange things had often happened at the diggings, and there were men prowling about the colony who would care nothing about shedding blood, if they could secure thereby the gains of a successful digger. He said nothing, however, to his companions; for it seemed an absurd thing to trouble them with his vague impressions and misgivings, especially as the man who had thus twice been near him had done nothing more than approach him and pass on.

It was some ten days later, and violent winds with heavy rains had driven the most ardent diggers early to their tents. Jacob was revolving in his mind what he had heard at the last Sunday's preaching, and thoughts of home, and duties left undone there, made him very sad. Then he thought of his young master at Tanindie, and wondered how he was progressing, and whether he would at length really take the one decided step and become a pledged abstainer. Thus he mused on, till the twilight melted rapidly into darkness. Then, having lifted up his heart to God in prayer, he threw himself down on his bed. But he could not sleep, though weary enough with the exhausting labours of many days. Suddenly he half raised himself; he thought he heard a strange noise like some one breathing not far from his head. Then the wind, which had lulled for a second or two, resumed its violence, and flapped the canvas of his tent backwards and forwards. Again he lay down, but shortly afterwards thought he heard the breathing again—or was he only deceiving himself? It was difficult to hear anything else distinctly for the noise made by the flapping of the tent and the creaking of its supports. Still, he did not feel easy. And now in the dusk it seemed to him that the lower part of the folds of the tent near his bed's head moved in a peculiar manner, such as the wind could not cause. Without rising, he silently and cautiously rolled himself over from the bed till he could lay his hand on a large rug;—this he quietly folded up, and, creeping back, laid it in his own place on the bed itself. Then, drawing himself round noiselessly, he lay at full-length on the ground, at right angles to the bed, with his face not far from the bolster. Not a sound, except the flapping and creaking of the tent, was heard for some time, till Jacob, feigning to be asleep, began to breathe hard, and then to snore louder and louder. Suddenly he was aware that the canvas was lifted slowly a few feet from where he was stretched along. He continued, however, still to breathe hard, as one in a deep sleep. Another moment, and a man was stealthily raising himself to his knees inside the tent. Then the intruder raised his arm. Jacob, concealed by a fold of the tent, could just make out that the man's hand grasped some weapon. The next instant there was a plunge downward of the hand, and a suppressed exclamation of surprise. But Jacob waited to see and hear no more. Catching up a spade, which he knew was close by, he aimed a furious blow at the intended assassin. He did not, however, fully reach his mark—the blow fell partly short, yet not altogether; there was a cry of pain and terror, and then the murderous intruder rushed from the tent, and made his escape, before Jacob could recover his balance, which he had lost in the violence of his stroke. And now conjecture and suspicion were changed to certainty. He could not doubt whose was the voice that uttered that cry; it was too hateful to him ever to be forgotten; he was now sure that his surmises were true, and that the man whom he had twice seen so near him was the same who had just been attempting his life, and was none other than Juniper Graves. He must have blackened his hair and cultivated a moustache, which would account for Jacob's being puzzled to identify him. As soon as he could recover from his surprise, Jacob armed himself with a revolver, and cautiously examined the ground outside his tent, thinking that perhaps his enemy might be lurking about, or might have been disabled by the blow of his spade.

"I'm certain I marked the villain," he said to himself. "I'm sure, by the way he hollered out, he's got summat with him as he'll remember me by." But all was still, except the howling of the wind and the pattering and splashing of the driving rain. Then he made his way to the large tent which the brothers, his companions, all occupied in common. He told his story, which, of course, excited both the sympathy and indignation of his hearers. But what was to be done?

"No use looking for him to-night," said one; "he's bolted off far enough by this time, you may depend on't. As good look for a black fellow in the Murray reeds, as search for this precious scoundrel in the dark. Here; one of us'll come and share your tent to-night, and to-morrow we'll raise a hue and cry."

But hue and cry were raised in vain. Juniper Graves, if he were the culprit, was gone, and had left no trace behind. Nothing more was seen or heard of him; no such person was to be found at the diggings, and no one seemed to know anything about him. So Jacob was left in peace till the three months were gone, and then returned to Tanindie, the party having met with rather more than average good fortune.

When the first greetings were over, and Jacob had expressed his delight at the thorough restoration of his master's health, Frank turned to his faithful servant and said,—

"Well, Jacob, you've brought me good news, as you've come back safe, and a rich man; and, indeed, if you'd only brought yourself it would have been good news to me. But I am not quite so sure that you'll think my news good news, when you hear what I have to tell you."

A cloud gathered on Jacob's face, as he said tremblingly,—

"Eh, surely, mayster, you—you—you've not been—"

"Oh, no, no," laughed Frank; "set your mind at rest, Jacob; I'm a thorough teetotaller now, and have been ever since you left."

"And mean to be so still, I hope, mayster."

"I hope so," was the reply. "But you have not heard my news, Jacob. I'm thinking of going home; not home to Adelaide, but back across the sea again—home to England."

"Indeed, Mayster Frank. Well, I'm not so sorry to hear it."

"Are you not?" said his master, with a look of disappointment. "I thought you might have been. At any rate, I shall be sorry to lose you, Jacob, for you've been more like a brother than a servant to me; though, it's true, you'll not be much of a sufferer by losing me."

"Ay, but, Mayster Frank, there's no reason why either on us should lose t'other. I haven't forgotten what you did for me on board ship; and I'll serve ye still here or in the old country, till you can find one as'll suit you better."

"Jacob, you're a good fellow," replied his master; "you shall be my servant, then, and we will go back to Old England together. I'll tell you just how it is. My dear mother wants me home again—it seems she can't be content without me; and as there really is no special reason why I should remain in the colony—and certainly I haven't been much of an ornament to it, nor credit to my friends here—I think it better to meet her wishes and return."

"And I'll go with you, with all my heart," said the other; "only then you mustn't think, mayster, as it's all on your own account as says so; it wouldn't be honest to let you think so. Truth is, I've been having a talk wi' a good minister as came a-preaching where we were on the Sabbath up at the diggings; and he's opened my eyes a bit; or, rather, the Lord's opened 'em through him. So you see, I've been asking him what's my duty about them as I've left at home, and it seems to me, by what the good man says, as I haven't dealt by 'em quite as I should. It's a long story, and I needn't trouble you with it; but it just comes to this: I came back from the diggings with my mind made up to go home again first opportunity. So, you see, mayster, as you're going yourself, I can go with you all right now."

"And do you know, Jacob—or rather, I'm pretty sure that you don't know, that your old friend, Captain Merryweather, has been to Adelaide. He's gone to Melbourne now, but he'll be back in a month, and we can take our passage home in the dear old Sabrina."



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

It was a month after the return of Jacob and his party from the diggings that Frank, Jacob, and Captain Merryweather met on board the Sabrina at Port Adelaide.

"So, Jacob, my boy," cried the captain; "why, how you're grown! Colonial life agrees with you. I should hardly have known you. And you're coming home in the old ship. I'm heartily glad of it; that is, supposing you're the same lad as when you sailed with me before. I mean, as stanch an abstainer."

"Ay, that he is," said Frank warmly.

"And you too, Mr Oldfield?"

"Well, I am at present," replied the other, colouring; "and I hope to continue so."

"Ah, then, I suppose you've never signed the pledge."

"No; more's the pity."

"Oh, Mayster Frank," interposed Jacob, "you promised me, when you were so ill, as you'd sign when you got better."

"And so I will; but it's no use signing for the first time now, when I'm going home in a total abstinence ship. I'll join some society at home. Our good rector's, for instance. Yes; I'll join his, and my name and example will be really of some use then."

"Excuse me, Mr Oldfield, pressing you on the subject, but I hope you'll allow me the privilege of an old friend," said the captain. "I feel so very strongly on the matter. I've seen so very much mischief done from putting off; and if a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing at once; take my advice—'There's no time like the present;' 'Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day;' these are two good proverbs. I've found them of immense value in my line of life."

"Yes; they're very good proverbs, no doubt," said Frank, laughing; "but there are some as good, perhaps, on the other side, though you won't think so; for instance, 'Second thoughts are best,' and 'Better late than never.'"

"True, Mr Oldfield; but 'late' often runs into never."

Frank made a gay, evasive reply, and turned hastily away, leaving Jacob to arrange some matters in his cabin, while he went himself on shore.

He was loitering about among the warehouses till Jacob should join him, when a figure which seemed familiar to him approached, in earnest conversation with another man, but he could not see the face of either distinctly. After a while they parted, and the man whom he seemed to recognise was left alone, and turned towards him. But could it really be? Dare he believe his eyes? Yes; there could be no mistake, it was indeed Juniper Graves. That rather reckless character was, however, much more spruce in his appearance, and better dressed, than when in Frank Oldfield's service. There was an assumption of the fine gentleman about him, which made him look ludicrously contemptible, and had Frank not been roused to furious indignation at the sight of him, he could hardly have refrained from a violent outburst of merriment at the absurd airs and graces of his former servant. As it was, breathless with wrath, his eyes flashing, and his face in a crimson glow, he rushed upon the object of his just resentment, and, seizing him by the collar, exclaimed in a voice of suppressed passion,—

"You—you confounded scoundrel! you rascally thief! So I've caught you at last. I'll make very short work with you, you ungrateful villain."

Then he paused for a moment, and shaking him violently, added,—

"What have you to say for yourself, why I shouldn't hand you over at once to the police?"

Nothing could be more whimsically striking than the contrast between Juniper Graves' grand and jaunty bearing a moment before, and his present utter crawling abjectness. He became white with terror, and looked the very picture of impotent cowardice. But this was but for a minute; then his self-possession returned to him. He felt that, if his master gave him over immediately in charge to the police, everything was lost; but if he could only get a hearing for a few minutes, before any further step was taken, he was persuaded that he could manage to stem the torrent that was bearing against him, especially as, fortunately for him, Frank Oldfield and himself were alone. His first object, therefore, was to gain time.

"Oh, Mr Frank, Mr Frank!" he cried beseechingly, "spare me—spare me— you don't know all—you're labouring under a great misapplication; if you only knew all, you'd think very indifferently of me."

"That's just what I do now," said the other, smiling in spite of himself. Juniper saw the smile. He was satisfied that his case was not hopeless.

"Pray, Mr Frank," he said humbly and softly, "pray do take your hand off my coat; there's no need, sir—I shan't try to escape, sir—I'll follow you as impressively as a lamb—only give me time, and I'll explain all."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Frank; "do you mean to tell me that you'll explain back my fifty pounds into my pocket again?"

"Yes, sir, and more besides, if you'll only be patient and hear me. Thank you, sir. If you'll just step in here, sir, I hope to be able to explain all to your satisfaction."

They entered a little office connected with a weighing-machine, which happened to be vacant at the time.

"Now, mind," said Frank Oldfield, when they were shut in alone, "I'll have a straightforward statement, without any prevarication, or I give you over at once into custody. If you can't clear yourself, and I don't see how you possibly can, there's the jail before you, the only place you're fit for."

"I'm quite aware, sir, that appearances are against me," said the other meekly; "but, Mr Frank, you'll not refuse to listen to your old servant, that's devoted himself so faithfully to you and yours in England, and came across the seas just because he couldn't abide to be separated from you any longer."

"Come, sir," said Frank Oldfield sternly; "I'm not to be talked over in this way. You weren't so very anxious to avoid separation when you left me on a sick-bed, and made off with my fifty pounds. Come, sir, give me your explanation, as you call it, at once, and without any nonsense about your faithfulness to me and mine, or I shall put the prison-door between you and me, and that'll be a separation you'll not get over so easily."

"But you haven't heard me, sir; you haven't heard all. You don't know what I have to say in attenuation of my offence."

"I mayn't have heard all, Juniper, but I've both heard and seen about you a great deal more than I like; so let me warn you again, I must have a plain, straightforward statement. What have you done with my money, and how can you justify your abandoning me in my illness?"

"Ah! Mr Frank, you little know me—you little know what's in my heart. You little know how every pulse reverberates with deepest affection. But I'll go to the point, sir, at once;" for Frank began to exhibit signs of impatience. "When I saw you was getting ill, sir, and not able to care for yourself, I says to myself, 'I must ride off for a doctor. But what'll my poor master do while I'm gone? he's no power to help himself, and if any stranger should come in—and who knows it mightn't be one of these bushrangers!—he'd be sure to take advantage of him and steal his money while he lay helpless.' So says I to myself again, 'I think I'll risk it. I know it'll look awkward,'—but there's nothing like a good conscience, when you know you haven't meant to do wrong. 'I'll just take the money with me, and keep it safe for him till I get back.' Nay, please, Mr Frank, hear me out. Well, I took the fifty pounds, I don't deny it; it may have been an error in judgment, but we're all of us infallible beings. I rode off to find a doctor, but no doctor could I find; but I met a young bushman, who said he'd get some one to look after you till I could return."

"And why didn't you return; and how came you to want two horses to fetch the doctor with?" asked Frank impatiently.

"Ah! dear sir, don't be severe with me till you know all. I took both the horses for the same reason that I took the money. I was afraid a stranger might come while I was away, perhaps a bushranger, and the very first thing he'd have laid his hands on would have been the horse."

"Well; and why didn't you come back?"

"I did try, sir, to come back, but I missed my road, and made many fruitful efforts to regain my lost track. At last, after I'd tried, and tried, and tried again, I gave up in despair, and I should have perished in the scowling wilderness if I hadn't met with a party going to the diggings. Then the thought crossed my mind, 'I'll go and dig for gold; if I succeed, I'll show my dear master that I'm no slave to Mammoth, but I'll lay down my spoils at his feet; and if I fail, I cannot help it.' Well, sir, I went and dug with a good will. I prospered. I came back to look for my dear master, but I could not find him—he was evacuated. At last I heard that you were going to England, Mr Frank, and I said to myself; 'I'll go too. I'll pay my own passage. I'll be the dear young master's devoted servant, and he shall see by my unwearied intentions that I never really could have meant to do him wrong.'"

"And do you really think me such a fool as to believe all this?" asked Frank contemptuously.

"Yes, sir; I do hope you will, sir," was the reply of Juniper. "There, sir," he added, "I'll give you the best proof that I'm not the rogue you took me for. Please, sir, to read what's on that packet, and then open it."

Frank took from his hands a heavy parcel, on which was clearly written, "F Oldfield, Esquire; from Juniper Graves." He opened it. It contained six ten-pound notes and a leather bag full of nuggets.

"There, sir," said Juniper, triumphantly, "you can tell that this is no got-up thing. I've had no time to write these words on the paper since you collared me. I've carried it about just as it is for weeks, as you may plainly see by looking at the cover of it, till I could give it into your own hands."

It was clear, certainly, that the paper had been folded and directed some considerable time back, as was manifest from the marks of wear and rubbing which it exhibited. Frank was staggered.

"Really, Juniper," he said, "I don't know what to think, I can't deny that this packet has been made up for me before our present meeting, and it has all the appearance of having been some considerable time just as it now is. It certainly looks as if you didn't mean to rob me, as you've paid me, I should think, nearly double what you took. Of course, I don't want that. I shall not take more than my fifty pounds."

"Oh, sir, do take the rest, as some amends for the anxiety I've caused you by my foolish act, in taking charge of your money in the way I did without your knowledge or permission. It was wrong, and I oughtn't to have done it; but I meant it for the best. And oh, dear master, do think the best of me. I never did mean to harm you; and I'm ready to go with you now from the Pole to the Antipathies."

"No, Juniper, I shall only take my own," said his master; and he restored him one of the ten-pound notes and the nuggets, which Juniper accepted with apparent reluctance.

"So far," said Frank Oldfield, "let bygones be bygones. I trust that you'll not make any more such awkward mistakes."

"You're satisfied then, sir?" asked Graves.

"Yes, so far as my money is concerned. But there's a graver charge against you still. Jacob Poole has informed me, and asserts it most positively, that you stole into his tent at the diggings and tried to murder him."

"Well, did I ever!" exclaimed Juniper, holding up both his hands in amazement. "I really think, sir, that young man can't be quite right in his head. Me try to murder him! why, I've never set eyes on him since the day he spoke so impertinently to me at the cottage. Me murder him! what can the poor, silly young man be thinking of. It's all his fancy, sir; merely congestion of the brain, sir, I assure you; nothing but congestion of the brain."

"It may be so," replied Frank; "but here he comes himself; let us hear what he has to say on the subject."

They both stepped out into the open air as Jacob Poole came up.

Poor Jacob, had he seen the "father of lies" himself walking with his master, he could hardly have been more astounded. He rubbed his eyes, and stared hard again at Frank and his companion, to assure himself that he was not mistaken or dreaming. No; there could be no doubt of it. Frank Oldfield was there, and Juniper Graves was as clearly there; and it was equally plain that there was more of confidence than of distrust in his master's manner towards the robber and intended murderer. What could it all mean?

"Come here, Jacob," said Frank. "I see you look rather aghast, and I don't wonder; but perhaps you may find that Juniper Graves here is not quite so black as we have thought him. He acknowledges that he took my fifty pounds, but he says he never meant to keep it; and that he missed his way in looking for a doctor, and afterwards joined a party at the diggings."

"Well, Mayster Frank?" said Jacob, with a look of strong incredulity.

"Ah, I see you don't believe it, and I own it don't sound very likely; but then, you see, he has given me a proof of his wish not to wrong me; for—look here, Jacob—he has returned me my fifty pounds, and wanted me to take another ten pounds, and some nuggets besides, his own hard earnings at the diggings; only, of course, I wouldn't have them."

"Indeed, mayster," replied Jacob, with a dry cough of disbelief; and glancing at Juniper, who had assumed, and was endeavouring to keep up on his cunning countenance, an appearance of injured virtue.

"Yes, indeed, Jacob," said his master; "and we mustn't be too hard upon him. He did wrong, no doubt, and he has made the best amends he could. If he had been a thorough rogue, he never would have cared to seek me out and return me my money with large interest. And, what's more, he's coming over to England in the same ship with us; not as my servant, but paying his own passage, just for the sake of being near me. That doesn't look like a thoroughly guilty conscience."

"Coming home in the same vessel with us!" cried Jacob, in utter astonishment and dismay. "Coming home in the same vessel!"

"Yes, Mr Poole," said Juniper, stepping forward, and speaking with an air of loftiness and injured innocence; "and, pray, why not coming home in the same vessel? What have you to say against it, I should like to know? Am I to ask your leave in what ship I shall cross the brawny deep? Have you a conclusive right to the company of our master?—for he is mine as well as yours till he himself banishes me irresolutely from his presence."

"You shall not sail in the same vessel with us, if I can hinder it, as sure as my name's Jacob Poole," said the other.

"And how can you hinder it, Mr Poole, I should like you to tell me? I ask nobody's favour. I've paid my passage-money. I suppose my brass, as you wulgarly call it, is as good as any other man's."

"Well," said Jacob, "I'll just tell you what it is. You'll have to clear up another matter afore you can start for England. You'll have to tell the magistrate how it was as you crept into my tent at the diggings, and tried to stick your knife into me. What do you say to that, Mr Juniper Graves?"

Just the very slightest tremor passed through Juniper's limbs, and the faintest tinge of paleness came over his countenance at this question, but he was himself again in a moment.

"Really," he exclaimed, "it's enough to throw a man off his balance, and deprive him of his jurisprudence, to have such shocking charges brought against him. But I should like, sir, to ask this Mr Poole a question or two, as he's so ready to accuse me of all sorts of crimes; he don't suppose that I'm going to take him for judge, jury, and witnesses, without having a little shifting of the evidence."

"Well, of course, it's only fair that you should ask him for proof;" said Frank.

"Come, then, Mr Poole," said Juniper, in a fierce swaggering tone, "just tell me how you can prove that I ever tried to murder you? Pooh! it's easy enough to talk about tents; and knives, and such things, but how can you prove it that I ever tried to murder you? a likely thing, indeed."

"Prove it!" exclaimed Jacob, evidently a little at fault.

"Yes, prove it. Do you think I'm going to have my character sworn away on such unsubstantial hallucinations? Tell me, first, what time of the day did it happen?"

"It didn't happen in the day at all, as you know well enough."

"Was it dark?"

"Yes."

"Could you see who it was as tried to murder you, as you say?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it was me?"

"I hit the scoundrel with my spade," said Jacob, indignantly, "and made him sing out, and I knowed it were your voice; I should have knowed it among a thousand."

"And that's all your proof," said the other, sneeringly. "You knowed my voice."

"Ay," replied Jacob; "and I left my mark on you too. There's a scar on your hand. I haven't a doubt that's it."

"Can you prove it?" asked the other, triumphantly. "A scar, indeed! Do you think scars are such uncommon things with men as works hard at the diggings, that you can swear to one scar? A precious likely story!"

"Ah, but I saw you myself."

"When?"

"At two of the preachings."

"Preachings! and what then? I didn't try and murder you at the preachings, did I? But are you sure it was me, after all, as you saw at the preachings?"

"Quite."

"How was I dressed? Was the person you took for me just the same as me? Had he the same coloured hair—smooth face, like me?"

"I'll tell you plain truth," said Jacob, warmly; "it were you. I'm as sure as I'm here it were you; but you'd blacked your sandy hair, and growed a beard on your lip."

"Well, I never!" cried the other, in a heat of virtuous indignation. "Here's a man as wants to make out I tried to murder him; but when I asks him to prove it, all he says is, he couldn't see me do it, that he heard my voice, that I've got a scar on my hand, that he saw me twice at some preachings, but it wasn't me neither; it wasn't my hair, it wasn't my beard, and yet he's sure it was me. Here's pretty sort of evidence to swear away a man's life on. Why, I wonder, young man, you ain't ashamed to look me in the face after such a string of tergiversations."

"I think, Jacob," said his master, "you'd better say no more about it. It's plain you've no legal proof against Juniper; you may be mistaken, after all. Let us take the charitable side, and forget what's past. There, shake hands; and as we're to be all fellow-voyagers, let us all be friends."

But Jacob drew back.

"No, mayster; I'll not grip the hand of any man, if my heart cannot go with it. Time'll show. By your leave, I'll go and get the dog-cart ready; for I suppose you'll be going back to Adelaide directly?"

His master nodding assent, Jacob went to fetch the vehicle, and on his return found his master in earnest conversation with Juniper.

"Good-bye, then, Juniper, till we meet next Thursday on board the Sabrina," he cried.

"Good-bye, sir; and many thanks for your kindness."

Jacob, of course, uttered no word of farewell; but just looking round for an instant, he saw Juniper's eyes fixed on him with such a look of deadly, savage hatred, as assured him—though he needed no such assurance—that his intended murderer was really there.

"I think, Jacob, you're rather hard on Juniper," said his master, as they drove along. "He has done wrong; but I am persuaded he has still a strong attachment to me, and I really cannot think he can have been the person who tried to murder you. Why should you think it, Jacob? He's never done you any harm before."

"Mr Frank, you must excuse me; but I'm sure I'm not mistaken. He's always hated me ever since the day I spoke out my mind to you at the cottage. Take my word for it, Mr Frank, he's no love for you; he only wants to make a tool of you, just to serve his own purposes."

"Nay, nay, Jacob, my good fellow; not so fast. He cannot be so utterly selfish, or he never would have offered me the extra ten-pound note and the nuggets, over and above the fifty pounds, if he hadn't really a love for me, and a true sorrow for what he has done wrong."

"I cannot see that," was the reply. "Of course, he knowed he was likely to meet you when he came to Adelaide; and he was pretty sure what'd happen if you gave him in charge to the police. He knowed well enough they wouldn't listen to his tale; so, just to keep clear of the prison, he gave you the money, and made up his story just to save hisself. He knowed fast enough as you'd never take more nor your fifty pounds."

"Ah, but Jacob," said his master, "you're wrong there. He had made up the parcel, nuggets and all, and directed it to me long before he saw me. Don't that show that he intended it all for me, whether he met me or no?"

"Not a bit of it, Mr Frank," replied Jacob, bluntly. "He knowed precious well how to play his game. I'll be bound there's summat wrong about his getting this gold; I'll ne'er believe he dug it up hisself. I shouldn't wonder if he hasn't robbed some poor chap as has worked hard for it; and now he wants to get out of the colony as fast as he can afore he's found out. And, in course, he's been carrying this brass lapped up a long time, just in case you should light on him at any time, and he might seem to have a proper tale to tell. But you may be right sure, Mr Frank, as you'd ne'er have seen a penny of it if he could only have got clear out of the colony without coming across yourself."

"You're not very charitable, Jacob, I think," said his master; "but it may be as you say. And yet, why should he be so anxious to go out in the same ship with me? If he wanted to keep his money to himself; why didn't he keep close till the Sabrina was gone, and then sail by the next vessel?"

"Perhaps he did mean it, Mr Frank, only you happened to light on him."

"No, that cannot be, for he says he has paid for his own passage."

"Then, if that's a true tale," said the other, "I'll be bound he's not done it with any good meaning for you or me. I shall keep both my eyes well open, or he'll be too much for me. And as for you, Mr Frank, oh, don't listen to him, or he'll hook all your brass as he's given you out of your pocket again, or he'll lead you back to the drink if he can."

Frank coloured, and looked troubled, and turned the conversation to another subject.

At last the day of sailing came. The Sabrina, taken in tow by a steam-tug, soon made her way to Holdfast Bay, where she was to lie at anchor till Saturday morning. Hubert and his uncle accompanied Frank Oldfield thus far, and then returned in the steam-tug. Before they parted, Hubert had a long conversation with his friend in his cabin. His last words were of Mary, and Frank's one special temptation; and they separated with a fervent grasp, and eyes brimming with tears. Yet in neither of their hearts was there hope. Hubert felt that his friend had not satisfied him that he really meant utterly and for ever to renounce strong drink; and Frank felt that he had withheld any positive promise so to abstain, because he knew that the deep-rooted purpose of his heart was to resume the indulgence which would be his ruin, body and soul.

And where was Juniper? No one saw him on deck; and yet assuredly he was on board the vessel, for Jacob had seen him come up the side.

Saturday morning, and a fine favourable wind. Up comes the anchor—the Sabrina bends to the breeze—away they go! Kangaroo Island is reached and passed. Then emerges Juniper Graves from his cabin between decks, and smiles as he looks around him. All is safe now.

The Sabrina had been gone ten days, when a weary, downcast-looking man entered Mr Abraham Oliphant's office.

"Your name ain't Oliphant, is it?" he asked, doggedly.

"Yes, it is," said Hubert, whom he was addressing.

The man got up, and stared steadily at him for a minute.

"It ain't him!" he muttered to himself.

Hubert was inclined at first to be amused; but there was something in the man's manner that checked his merriment.

"You want my uncle, perhaps," he said.

Mr Abraham Oliphant came at his nephew's summons. The man, who had all the appearance of a returned digger, shook his head.

"You've neither on you been to the diggings, I reckon?"

"No; we have neither of us been," said the merchant.

"Are there any of your name as has been?" asked the other.

"None; I can answer for it," was the reply. "My sons have none of them been; and we, with my nephew here, are all the Oliphants in this colony. No Oliphant has been to the diggings from South Australia."

The man sighed deeply.

"Can you make anything out o' that?" he asked, handing a piece of soiled paper to Mr Oliphant. "I can't read myself, but you can read it."

The merchant took the piece of paper and examined it. It had once been part of an envelope, but had been torn and rolled up to light a pipe, and one end, where it had been used, was burned. The words left on it were all incomplete, except the names "Oliphant" and "Australia." What was left was as follows:—

yes, Oliphant, delaide, th Australia.

Both uncle and nephew scrutinised it attentively. At last Hubert said,—

"I can tell now who this belonged to."

"Who?" cried the man, eagerly.

"Why, to one Juniper Graves, a servant of Mr Frank Oldfield's. He chose to take upon himself to have his letters from England directed to the care of my uncle, and this is one of the envelopes."

"And where is he? Can you tell me where I can find him?" cried the digger, in great excitement.

"I'm afraid you'll not find him at all, my friend," replied the merchant, "for he left the colony in the Sabrina for England ten days ago."

The effect of this announcement on the poor man was tremendous. He uttered a violent imprecation, stamped furiously on the ground, while he ground his teeth together. Then he sat down, and covered his face with his hands in mute despair.

"I fear there has been some foul play," said Mr Oliphant to his nephew.

"Foul play!" cried the unfortunate digger, starting up furiously. "I'll tell you what it is. Yon rascal's been and robbed me of all as I got by my hard labour; and now he's got clean off. But I'll follow him, and have the law of him, if I work my passage home for it."

"I've always had a suspicion that the fellow had not come honestly by his gains," said Hubert.

"And why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you have him taken up on suspicion?" exclaimed the other bitterly.

"I had no grounds for doing so," replied Hubert. "He might have come honestly by his money for anything I knew to the contrary. There was nothing to show that he had not been successful, as many other diggers have been."

"Successful!" cried the poor man. "Ay, he's been successful in making a precious fool of me."

"Tell us how it happened," said Mr Oliphant.

"Why, you see, gentlemen, my mates and me had done very well; and they was for going to Melbourne with what they'd got, but I was for stopping to get a little more. Well, I was all alone, and a little fidgetty like for fear of getting robbed, when one evening I sees a sandy-haired chap near my tent as didn't look much used to hard work; so I has a bit o' talk with him. He seemed a greenish sort of piece, and I thought as p'raps I might just make use of him, and keep him for company's sake. So he and I agreed to be mates; he was to do the lighter work, and I was to do the hard digging, and keep the biggest share of what we got. So we chummed together; and he seemed a mighty pleasant sort of a cove for a bit. He was always a-talking, and had his mouth full o' big words. I never said nothing about what I'd got afore, and he never seemed to care to ask me. But it were all his deepness. One night he pulls out a pack of cards, and says, 'Let's have a game. Only for love,' says he, when he saw me look a little shyly at him. 'I'm not a gambler,' says he; 'I never plays for money.' So we has a game and a pipe together, and he pulls out a little flask of spirits, and we got very cheerful. But I was careful not to take too much that night. However, the rum set my tongue loose, and I let out something about having more gold than he knowed of. I was mighty vexed, however, next day, when I remembered what I'd said. But he never said a word about it, but looked werry innocent. A few nights arterwards we gets drinking and smoking again. Then he took a little too much himself. I knowed it, because next day he was axing me if I'd see'd anything of an envelope as he'd lost. I told him 'no;' but the real fact was, he'd twisted it up to light his pipe with, and I'd picked up the bit as he threw away, and put it in my pocket. I didn't think anything about it then; but next day, when he made a great fuss about it, and the day after too, I said to myself; 'I'll keep the bit of paper; maybe summat'll turn up from it one of these days.' So I took it out of my pocket when he were not by, and stowed it away where I knew he couldn't find it. But I shall weary you, gentlemen, with my long story. Well, the long and short of it was just this. He managed to keep the spirit-bottle full, and got me jolly well drunk one night; and then I've no doubt I told him all he wanted to know about my gold, for I know no more nor the man in the moon what I said to him. I asked him next day what I'd been talking about; and he said I was very close, and wouldn't let out anything. Well, it seems there was a strong party leaving the diggings a day or so arter; but it was kept very snug. Jemmy Thomson—that was what my new mate called himself to me—had managed to hear of it, and got leave to join 'em. So, the night afore they went, he gets me into a regular talk about the old country, and tells me all sorts of queer stories, and keeps filling my pannikin with grog till I was so beastly drunk that I knew nothing of what had happened till it was late the next morning. Then I found he was off. He'd taken every nugget I'd got, and some bank-notes too, as I'd stowed away in a safe place. The party had started afore daybreak; and nobody knowed which way they'd gone, for they'd got off very secret. I was like one mad, you may be sure, when I discovered what he'd been and done. I took the bit of paper with me, and managed somehow to get to Melbourne. I tried to find him out; some only laughed at me. I went to the police; they couldn't do nothing for me—some on 'em told me it served me right for getting drunk. Then I went to a minister; and he was very kind, and made all sorts of inquiries for me. He said he'd reason to believe as Jemmy Thomson—as the rascal called himself—was not in Melbourne. And then he looked at my paper. 'Call on me to- morrow,' says he. And so I did. Then he says, 'There's no Oliphant here as I can find out; but there's a Mr Abraham Oliphant, a merchant, in Adelaide. This letter's been to him; you'd better see him.' So I've come here overland with a party; and now I must try my hand at summat or starve, for I shall never see my money nor the villain as stole it no more."

Mr Oliphant was truly sorry for the unfortunate man, and bade him take heart, promising to find him employment if he was willing to stick to his work and be sober. The man was thankful for the offer, and worked for a few weeks, but he was still all athirst for the gold, and, as soon as he could purchase the necessary tools, set out again for the diggings, with an earnest caution from Mr Oliphant to keep from the drink if he would not suffer a repetition of his loss and misery.

And thus it was that Juniper Graves had acquired his ill-gotten wealth. Having ascertained that a party was returning to South Australia, he joined himself to them, and got safe off with his stolen gold. As Jacob Poole had surmised, he had made up the packet of notes with the nuggets, that, should he happen to fall in with his master, he might be able to pacify him, and so prepare the way for regaining his favour and his own hold upon him. He felt quite sure, from what he knew of Frank Oldfield's generous character, that he never would take more than the fifty pounds, and he was aware that unless he made unhesitating restitution of that sum, he was in danger of losing all, and of being thrown into prison. And now he was anxious to leave the colony as soon as possible, that he might put the sea between himself and the man he had robbed; and, having ascertained that Frank Oldfield and Jacob Poole were returning to England in the Sabrina, he took his passage in the same vessel, partly with the view of getting his young master once more into his power, and partly in the hope of finding an opportunity of wreaking his vengeance on Jacob Poole. Therefore he was determined to leave no stone unturned to regain his influence over Frank, for his object was to use him for his own purposes both during and after the voyage. To this end his first great aim would be to cause, if possible, an estrangement between Jacob and his master. He also hoped to do his rival—as he considered Jacob—some injury of a serious kind, without exposing himself to detection. So far he had succeeded. All had prospered to his utmost wishes; and, as the shores of Kangaroo Island faded from the view of the voyagers, he hugged himself in secret and said,—

"Bravo, Juniper!—bravo! You've managed it to a T. Ah, Mr Jacob Poole! I'll make your master's cabin too hot to hold you afore any of us is a month older."



CHAPTER TWENTY.

A MAN OVERBOARD.

And now we bid farewell to Australia, and follow the Sabrina in her homeward voyage. It was soon evident that there was no love lost between Captain Merryweather and Juniper Graves, nor between that cunning gentleman and honest, straightforward Jacob. With Frank, however, it was different. Jacob soon found that his place was often taken by Juniper, and that himself was gradually losing his old place in his master's confidence and good graces: Frank would also frequently spend a long time in Juniper's cabin between decks, from which he returned in a state of great hilarity.

"Jacob," said the captain to him one day, "I can't quite make it out. I thought your master was an abstainer."

Jacob shook his head.

"I thought so too, captain; but I've found myself grievously mistaken. He's no mind to give up the drink, you may be sure. He's only teetotal when he cannot get it."

"I'm pretty sure," said the other, "that he takes it now. That fellow Juniper Graves is no fit companion for him."

"Ah, captain, that man's been his ruin in Australia; and he'll be his ruin when he gets back to the old country, if he doesn't shake him off. But I fear he'll ne'er do that. The old lad hasna a fitter tool in all the world nor yon chap. He'll not stick at anything. He's tried robbery and murder, and he'll not be over nice about squeezing all he can out of the poor young mayster."

Jacob then related to Captain Merryweather all he knew of Juniper Graves' proceedings, and both he and the captain agreed together to watch him, and do their utmost to keep poor Frank out of his clutches.

"I don't care so much about myself," said Jacob; "though I'm quite sure he'd knock me overboard any day, if he'd the chance of doing it without being seen, for he hates me worse nor poison. But I'm grieved to the heart to see him winding hisself round Mayster Frank, who's so kind and so warm-hearted and so free. I cannot forget how he risked his life to save mine when we was coming out, as you know, captain; and I'd give my own life for him now, if I could only get him clear of yon cunning rascal as is leading him blindfold to hell."

"I've no doubt," said the other, "that this man has brought spirits on board, and that he and Mr Oldfield drink in his cabin together."

"Yes," replied Jacob; "and you may be quite sure as he'll hook all the brass out of the young mayster afore the voyage is over."

It was just as Jacob and the captain surmised. Juniper Graves had brought a good stock of brandy and rum on board with him, and took care that Frank Oldfield should pay handsomely for what he was willing, after much solicitation, to part with. Let us look in upon them, as they sit together by Juniper's berth. The time is midnight. Frank has stolen in while the captain has been sleeping, for he fears being seen going there by the honest sailor. There is a curtain hung up before the door to hide the light. A small candle lamp hung on gymbals is fixed to the woodwork, and throws a scanty gleam on the two figures which are engaged in earnest play. Yet how different are these two, spite of their companionship in evil! Frank, still beautiful in the refined cast of features, out of which intemperance has not yet been able to sear the traces of gentle blood and early culture; bright too and graceful in the masses of rich chestnut hair which adorn a forehead high and noble, yet now, alas! often crossed by lines of weary, premature care. Juniper, a compound of cat, fox, monkey, wolf—every feature of his contemptible face instinct with the greediest, most self-satisfied cunning. How could two such, so widely different in natural character, be yet so agreed? Alas! what will not the love of the drink, the slavery of the drink, the tyranny of the drink accomplish? Each holds his cards characteristically. Frank so carelessly that his adversary can see them; Juniper grasping and shading his with jealous vigilance, lest a single glimpse of them should be visible to his opponent. A large spirit-flask stands under the berth close by Juniper's hand, and a glass is within the reach of each. They play on, for a while, in silence. Frank's money is clearly slipping through his fingers, though he is allowed now and then to win, especially when he gets at all restive or suspicious.

"There, Juniper," says Frank at last, and in no steady voice, "I declare you'll clean me out before long. I do believe you've come on board for the sake of squeezing me dry, as Jacob says."

"As Jacob says!" cries the other, with affected indignation and astonishment. "I wish, sir, that conceited young puppy had never set foot on this vessel. What does he know of the sort of aversions as are suited to a gentleman of your birth and retrospects?"

"Juniper," replies the other, "I think the 'aversions,' as you call them, belong to you and not to me, if I may judge by your aversion for poor Jacob; and as for 'retrospects,' I think the less I say about them the better."

"Well, sir, I don't know," replies Juniper, huffily; "you may amuse yourself; sir, with my humble efforts at a superior style of soliloquy; but I'm sure you're doing me injustice, and allowing yourself to be bamboozled, if you let yourself be talked over by that canting hypocrite."

"Steady—steady, my boy!" cries Frank; "you're half-seas over, Juniper, or you could not say so. Come, hand us the brandy. We'll let Jacob alone, and drink his health, and the health of all good lads and lasses."

"As you please, sir," says Juniper, sulkily.

The next morning, when Frank Oldfield appeared on deck, his face and whole appearance bore the unmistakable marks of last night's excess. His very breath also told the same miserable tale. As for Juniper, though he had drunk more cautiously, yet he did not show himself outside his cabin till the afternoon. The captain had his eye upon him, and could not help remarking to himself what a look of deadly malice and venomous baseness pervaded every feature of the villain's face.