“Quite right, Jacob, quite right,” said his master, laughing; “you don’t vex me at all. I should do just the same, if I were in your place. Suppose, then, you give your bag in charge to our landlady the morning you start; that’ll be soon enough, for, poor soul, she’ll be glad, I daresay, not to have charge of other folk’s treasure a day longer than necessary; and I’ll be a witness that you give it into her charge.”
“Thank you, mayster,” said Jacob, greatly relieved; “that’s good advice, and I’ll follow it.”
The next evening, the last before Jacob’s expedition, Frank again remained at home. He had been out all the morning. Jacob looked anxiously at him when he returned. He clearly had not been drinking—at any rate immoderately—yet there was something in his look which Jacob could not fathom, and if ever Frank met his servant’s eye, his own immediately fell.
“I’m not satisfied as all’s right,” said Jacob to himself, “and yet I cannot tell what’s amiss.”
That night his sleep was restless and disturbed. Once he fancied that his door was opened, and that his master appeared and drew back again. Their rooms were on the opposite sides of the same landing. Again he fancied, or dreamt, that a hand passed under his pillow, where he kept his nuggets. It was quite dark—he started up and felt for the bag; it was there quite safe, and he laid him down again. But yet again he seemed to feel a hand behind his pillow.
“I must have been dreaming,” he muttered to himself; “the bag’s right.”
Yes, there it was all right when he rose in the morning. He was to start by an early train, so, hastily dressing himself, and having breakfasted, he came to say farewell to his master.
“Oh, Mayster Frank,” he said, grasping the other’s outstretched hand, “I’m heavy at the heart at leaving you. I cannot tell why, but there’s a weight like lead upon me. Oh, dear Mayster Frank, for my sake, for your own sake, for the sake of all them as loves you, will you promise me to keep off the drink, leastways till I come back? Will you pray the Lord to help you, Mayster Frank? He will help you, if you’ll pray honestly.”
What was it that affected his unhappy master so powerfully? Frank’s whole frame shook with emotion. He stared at Jacob with a gaze of mingled remorse and agony such as touched the other to the quick.
“Jacob,” gasped his master, at last, “I cannot let you go thus—you don’t know—I’ve—I’ve—” He paused for a moment, and tears and sobs burst from him. Then he sat down, and bowed his head on his knees, clasping his hands tightly together. Then an unnatural calmness followed; he muttered something to himself, and then said, in a tone of affected indifference and gaiety,—