"Somehow, in my dreams, I knew that if I dug straight down under the old tree that formed the centre of the dream I should find gold. This became a fixed idea with me, and when we reached the gold-fields I never stopped long in camp, so bent was I upon finding the tree of my dreams. Jim bore with me wonderfully. I knew he did not believe in my dream, but he was always ready to go where I wanted. I think now he thought that I was going out of my mind, or feared that if he thwarted me I might take to drink again. However, at last we found the tree—at least I was positive it was the tree of my dreams. James tried to dissuade me from digging in a place which looked so unpromising; but nothing would deter me save death, and you see the result. We shall go back; the debt will be cleared off, Jim will marry his sweetheart, and I shall live with him to the end of my days. He is a grand fellow is Jim, though I dare say it didn't strike you so when you first knew him."
"He is a grand fellow," Frank agreed heartily, "and I am truly glad, Mr. Adams, that all has turned out so well."
"And now, can you tell me something of yourself, Frank? It is to you we owe it that things have turned out well; and if, as I rather guess, you have got into some scrape at home, I can only say that my son and myself will be very glad to share our fortune with you, and to take one-third of it each."
"I thank you greatly, sir, for your generous offer, but it would be of no use to me. I have, as you suspect, got into a scrape at home, but it is from no fault of my own. I have been wrongfully suspected of committing a crime; and until that charge is in some way or other cleared up, and the slur on my name wiped off, I would not return to England if I had a hundred thousand pounds."
"And can nothing be done? Would it be any use whatever to set to work on any line you can suggest? I would make it my own business, and follow up any clue you could give me."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Adams; thank you with all my heart: but nothing can be done, there is nothing to follow. It was not a question of a crime so committed that many outside persons would be interested in it, or that it could be explained in a variety of ways. So far as the case went it was absolutely conclusive, so conclusive that I myself, knowing that I was innocent, could see no flaw in the evidence against myself, nor for months afterwards could I perceive any possible explanation save in my own guilt. Since then I have seen that there is an alternative. It is one so painful to contemplate that I do not allow myself to think of it, nor does it seem to me that even were I myself upon the spot, with all the detective force of England to aid me, I could succeed in proving that alternative to be the true one except by the confession of the person in question.
"If he were capable of planning and carrying out the scheme which brought about my disgrace, he certainly is not one who would under any conceivable circumstances confess what he has done. Therefore, there is nothing whatever to be done in the matter. Years and years hence, if I make a fortune out here, I may go home and say to those whose esteem and affection I have lost, 'I have no more evidence now than I had when I left England to support my simple declaration that I was innocent, but at least I have nothing to gain by lying now. I have made a fortune, and would not touch one penny of the inheritance which would once have been mine. I simply come before you again solemnly to declare that I was innocent, wholly and conclusively as appearances were against me.' It may be that the word of a prosperous man will be believed though that of a disgraced schoolboy was more than doubted."
"And is there no one to whom I could carry the assurance of your innocence?" Mr. Adams asked. "Some one may still be believing in you in spite of appearances. It might gladden some one's heart were I to bear them from your lips this fresh assurance; were I to tell them how you have saved me when all hope seemed lost; were I to tell them how all here speak well of you, and how absolutely I am convinced that some hideous mistake must have been made."
Frank sat for some time silent.
"Yes," he said, at last. "I have a little cousin, a girl, she was like my sister; I hope—I think that, in spite of everything, she may still have believed me innocent. Will you see her and tell her you have seen me? Say no more until you see by her manner whether she believes me to be a rascal or not. If she does, give her no clue to the part of the world where you have come across me; simply say that I wished her to know that I was alive and well. If you see that she still, in spite of everything, believes that I am innocent, then tell her that I affirm on my honour and word that I am innocent, though I see no way whatever of ever proving it; that I do not wish her to tell my uncle she heard from me; that I do not wish her to say one word to him, for that, much as I value his affection, I would not for the world seem to be trying to regain the place he thinks I have forfeited, until I can appear before him as a rich man whom nothing could induce to touch one penny of his money, and who values only his good-will and esteem. That is her name and address."