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.”