But, alas! he did not know poor Frank, who did repent it—and bitterly, too. The sudden generosity which dictated the sacrifice was but a momentary flash. Frank would have given a great deal could he have recalled the act. But what was to be done? He could not, for very shame, lay in a fresh stock at present; and, equally, he could not resolve to cross his miserable appetite. So he devised a plan by which he could still indulge in the drink, and yet keep Jacob Poole completely in the dark; for, alas! it was becoming less and less painful to him to breathe in an atmosphere of deception. There was a small cottage not far from Frank’s dwelling. It had belonged to a labouring man, who had bought a small piece of ground with his hard earnings, had fenced it round, and built the cottage on it. This man, when “the diggins” broke out in Melbourne, sold his little property for a third of its value to a worthless fellow, whose one great passion was a love for the drink. Through this man Frank was able to obtain a constant supply of the pernicious stimulant. He would call at the house in the evening, and bring home in his pockets a flask or two of spirits, which he could easily keep out of the sight of Jacob and his housekeeper. But though he could conceal the drink, he could not conceal its effects. Again and again he became intoxicated—at first slightly so, and then more and more grossly and openly—till poor Jacob, wearied out and heart-sick, retired from Frank’s service, and obtained work from Mr Abraham Oliphant in his store at Adelaide.
Chapter Seventeen.
An Unhappy Surprise.
The half-year’s remittance came in due time, but Frank was quite unable to pay the £100 loan. Ruin was now staring him in the face. Tradesmen were clamorous, rent and wages were unpaid, and he was getting into a state of despair, when, to his great and unspeakable joy, a letter arrived one morning announcing that a legacy of £500, left him by an old lady—his 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 £100, with the interest.
“Oh, Hubert,” he said, “I can’t tell you how thankful and grateful I feel for this relief. I was getting into hopeless difficulties. I was at my wits’ end what to do. I felt like a miserable slave, just as if I was walking in irons; and now I could do nothing but shout all the way home, I feel so light and free!”
“I don’t doubt it,” said his friend. “But you were talking just now about being thankful. Won’t you let it be more than mere words? Won’t you show, dear Frank, that you really are grateful to 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?”