The half-year’s remittance came in due time, but Frank was quite unable to pay the L100 loan.  Ruin was now staring him in the face.  Tradesmen were clamorous, rent and wages were unpaid, and he was getting into a state of despair, when, to his great and unspeakable joy, a letter arrived one morning announcing that a legacy of L500, left him by an old lady his godmother would be paid into his account at the Adelaide Bank.  Here was, indeed, a reprieve.  In a transport of gratitude he threw himself on his knees, and gave thanks to God for this unlooked-for help.  Then he lost not a moment, but rode at once into Adelaide, and went first to the bank, where he ascertained that the money had been paid in.  Then he called on his creditors and discharged their bills.  And last of all he went to Hubert Oliphant and repaid the loan of the L100, with the interest.

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

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