And now we bid farewell to Australia, and follow the Sabrina in her homeward voyage.  It was soon evident that there was no love lost between Captain Merryweather and Juniper Graves, nor between that cunning gentleman and honest, straightforward Jacob.  With Frank, however, it was different.  Jacob soon found that his place was often taken by Juniper, and that himself was gradually losing his old place in his master’s confidence and good graces:  Frank would also frequently spend a long time in Juniper’s cabin between decks, from which he returned in a state of great hilarity.

“Jacob,” said the captain to him one day, “I can’t quite make it out.  I thought your master was an abstainer.”

Jacob shook his head.

“I thought so too, captain; but I’ve found myself grievously mistaken.  He’s no mind to give up the drink, you may be sure.  He’s only teetotal when he cannot get it.”

“I’m pretty sure,” said the other, “that he takes it now.  That fellow Juniper Graves is no fit companion for him.”

“Ah, captain, that man’s been his ruin in Australia; and he’ll be his ruin when he gets back to the old country, if he doesn’t shake him off.  But I fear he’ll ne’er do that.  The old lad hasna a fitter tool in all the world nor yon chap.  He’ll not stick at anything.  He’s tried robbery and murder, and he’ll not be over nice about squeezing all he can out of the poor young mayster.”

Jacob then related to Captain Merryweather all he knew of Juniper Graves’ proceedings, and both he and the captain agreed together to watch him, and do their utmost to keep poor Frank out of his clutches.

“I don’t care so much about myself,” said Jacob; “though I’m quite sure he’d knock me overboard any day, if he’d the chance of doing it without being seen, for he hates me worse nor poison.  But I’m grieved to the heart to see him winding hisself round Mayster Frank, who’s so kind and so warm-hearted and so free.  I cannot forget how he risked his life to save mine when we was coming out, as you know, captain; and I’d give my own life for him now, if I could only get him clear of yon cunning rascal as is leading him blindfold to hell.”

“I’ve no doubt,” said the other, “that this man has brought spirits on board, and that he and Mr Oldfield drink in his cabin together.”

“Yes,” replied Jacob; “and you may be quite sure as he’ll hook all the brass out of the young mayster afore the voyage is over.”

It was just as Jacob and the captain surmised.  Juniper Graves had brought a good stock of brandy and rum on board with him, and took care that Frank Oldfield should pay handsomely for what he was willing, after much solicitation, to part with.  Let us look in upon them, as they sit together by Juniper’s berth.  The time is midnight.  Frank has stolen in while the captain has been sleeping, for he fears being seen going there by the honest sailor.  There is a curtain hung up before the door to hide the light.  A small candle lamp hung on gymbals is fixed to the woodwork, and throws a scanty gleam on the two figures which are engaged in earnest play.  Yet how different are these two, spite of their companionship in evil!  Frank, still beautiful in the refined cast of features, out of which intemperance has not yet been able to sear the traces of gentle blood and early culture; bright too and graceful in the masses of rich chestnut hair which adorn a forehead high and noble, yet now, alas! often crossed by lines of weary, premature care.  Juniper, a compound of cat, fox, monkey, wolf every feature of his contemptible face instinct with the greediest, most self-satisfied cunning.  How could two such, so widely different in natural character, be yet so agreed?  Alas! what will not the love of the drink, the slavery of the drink, the tyranny of the drink accomplish?  Each holds his cards characteristically.  Frank so carelessly that his adversary can see them; Juniper grasping and shading his with jealous vigilance, lest a single glimpse of them should be visible to his opponent.  A large spirit-flask stands under the berth close by Juniper’s hand, and a glass is within the reach of each.  They play on, for a while, in silence.  Frank’s money is clearly slipping through his fingers, though he is allowed now and then to win, especially when he gets at all restive or suspicious.

“There, Juniper,” says Frank at last, and in no steady voice, “I declare you’ll clean me out before long.  I do believe you’ve come on board for the sake of squeezing me dry, as Jacob says.”

“As Jacob says!” cries the other, with affected indignation and astonishment.  “I wish, sir, that conceited young puppy had never set foot on this vessel.  What does he know of the sort of aversions as are suited to a gentleman of your birth and retrospects?”

“Juniper,” replies the other, “I think the `aversions,’ as you call them, belong to you and not to me, if I may judge by your aversion for poor Jacob; and as for `retrospects,’ I think the less I say about them the better.”

“Well, sir, I don’t know,” replies Juniper, huffily; “you may amuse yourself; sir, with my humble efforts at a superior style of soliloquy; but I’m sure you’re doing me injustice, and allowing yourself to be bamboozled, if you let yourself be talked over by that canting hypocrite.”

“Steady steady, my boy!” cries Frank; “you’re half-seas over, Juniper, or you could not say so.  Come, hand us the brandy.  We’ll let Jacob alone, and drink his health, and the health of all good lads and lasses.”

“As you please, sir,” says Juniper, sulkily.

The next morning, when Frank Oldfield appeared on deck, his face and whole appearance bore the unmistakable marks of last night’s excess.  His very breath also told the same miserable tale.  As for Juniper, though he had drunk more cautiously, yet he did not show himself outside his cabin till the afternoon.  The captain had his eye upon him, and could not help remarking to himself what a look of deadly malice and venomous baseness pervaded every feature of the villain’s face.

“He’s up to some mischief more than common, I’ll be bound,” he said to himself.  “I’ll keep a sharp look-out for you, my friend.”

A short time after, and Juniper had disappeared, nor did he emerge from his retreat till the evening.  He was then in high spirits, laughing and chatting with the sailors, and every now and then glancing up at Jacob, who was walking up and down the poop with Captain Merryweather.  At last, just as Jacob was descending to the main-deck, and had his foot on the topmost step of the ladder, the vessel lying over under a breeze on the quarter, Juniper suddenly sprang up the steps in a state of great excitement, shouting out, “A whale! a whale!” Every one but the captain turned suddenly round in the direction to which Juniper was pointing, Jacob among the number, so that he hung partly over the water.

“Where?” cried several voices.

“There!” he exclaimed, suddenly stumbling with his whole might against Jacob, so as very nearly to hurl him into the sea.  Indeed, had not the captain, who was on the watch, sprung forward and caught hold of him, he must have inevitably gone overboard.

“You scoundrel!” shouted the captain, seizing Juniper by the collar, and sending him spinning down the ladder on to the deck below, where he lay half stunned for a few moments.

“I’m up to your tricks, my man,” he added, as Juniper limped off to his cabin, vowing vengeance.

“What’s amiss, captain?” asked Frank, in great astonishment.  “What’s poor Juniper been doing?  No great harm in fancying he saw a whale, even supposing he was mistaken.”

“Mr Oldfield,” said the captain, sorrowfully, “you don’t know that fellow.  If ever there was a serpent in a human body, there’s one in that man of yours.  Bear with me, my dear sir, if I offer you an earnest word or two of caution.  I can see that you are not the man you were when we crossed the seas together before.  We had a very happy voyage then, and you remember how strong and settled you were on the subject of total abstinence.  Is it so now?  Ah! don’t let that wretched fellow take all that’s good and noble out of you.  He don’t care a straw for you nor for any one but himself; I’m quite certain.  He has mischief in his eye, and there’s a black heart under that smooth tongue if I know anything of what a rogue’s like, and I’ve boarded many that have been sailing under false colours in my day.  You must excuse my speaking so warmly and plainly, Mr Oldfield; but I really cannot bear to see you running on to the reefs without giving you a word of warning.”

“Thank you thank you, captain,” said Frank.  “I know you mean kindly, but I still think you’re hard upon Juniper.  I believe he’s a faithful fellow, with all his faults; and he isn’t without them, I’ll allow.  But he’s sincerely attached to me, I believe, and that makes up for a good deal.”

“Attached to you, Mr Oldfield! don’t think it!  He’s only making a tool of you he’ll just get all he can out of you, and then he’ll scuttle you, and leave you to sink.”

“I can’t think it, I cannot indeed,” was Frank’s reply; “there’s an old proverb about giving a dog a bad name.  He’s no friend of yours, I know, nor of Jacob Poole’s either, and I’m sorry for it.”

“And is he really acting a friend’s part by you, Mr Oldfield?” asked the other.  Frank coloured, and evaded the question.

“At any rate, Jacob has no real cause to be at such daggers-drawn with him,” he said.

“Do you think not?  Are you aware that he was trying to knock Jacob overboard only a few minutes ago, and that he attempted his life at the diggings?”

“Oh, captain, it’s all fancy; you’re mistaken, both of you.  I’m sure you’re mistaken.  Juniper’s not the sort of fellow he hasn’t it in him he hasn’t the pluck to commit murder, even if he had the will to do it.”

“Ah, Mr Oldfield,” cried the captain, “I say again, beware of him; you don’t know him; if you’d seen the spite in his eye that I’ve seen you wouldn’t talk so.  He has malice enough in him to take away life, if he felt sure he could do it without detection and punishment.  And is he not, at this very moment, stealing away from you the life of body and soul?  Don’t be offended, pray, Mr Oldfield; but I say again, I can’t bear to see you drifting on to the rocks, and not lend a helping hand to keep you off.”

“I’m not offended, my kind friend,” said Frank sorrowfully; “you tell the truth, I fear, when you say I’m drifting on to the rocks; and yet I don’t mean to go on as I’m doing now, I assure you when I touch land again I’m going to turn over a new leaf altogether, and paste it down over the old ones, so that I shall make quite a fresh start.”

“And do you think,” asked the other, “that this fellow will let you keep your good resolutions, even if you had the wish to do so?”

“Oh yes,” replied Frank, carelessly; “I’ve told Master Juniper that his reign will only last on board ship; I’m to be master, and we’re both to say `good-bye’ to the drink when once we set foot on shore, and he’s quite agreeable.”

“Of course he is,” said the captain; “he’ll be willing to promise anything for the future, if you’ll only let him keep his hold on you now.  Well, sir, I’ve warned you, and I hope you may lay it to heart.”

“I will, my good friend; indeed I will,” was the reply.  That evening Frank kept himself out of Juniper’s reach, much to the disgust and annoyance of that gentleman, who began to dread lest he had over-reached himself; and set his old master against him.  It was not so, however.  Juniper had become necessary to Frank, and a day or two found them as fast friends as ever.

And now the Sabrina had accomplished half her homeward course, and many a heart on board rejoiced in the hope of a speedy and prosperous completion of the voyage.

It was a chilly and boisterous afternoon, the clouds were hurrying in leaden-coloured layers along the sky, the sea was all in a foam, and patches of whitish upper clouds, beneath which the lower drift was scudding, threw a lurid light over the wide expanse of ocean.  The wind, which had hitherto been favourable, now veered, and obliged them to tack.  The captain, at this juncture, was on the poop, with Frank Oldfield by him.

“I haven’t seen Mr Juniper Graves to-day,” said the former.

“To tell you the truth,” answered Frank, “he and I have been having a few words together.”

“I’m not sorry for it,” remarked the captain drily; “nothing serious, however, I hope.”

“Nothing very, perhaps; but the matter’s simply this:  I’ve been fool enough to play cards with him for rather high stakes lately, and I fancy that I’ve detected my man peeping over my cards, and using a little sleight of hand in his shuffling too.”

“I’ll be bound he has,” remarked the other.

“If he’d been a poor man,” added Frank, “I could have excused it; but the fellow’s got a whole fortune in nuggets and notes stowed about him.  He’s a sort of walking `Crocus,’ as he told me once, when he wasn’t over sober, meaning `Croesus,’ of course.”

“And so you’ve given him a little of your mind, I suppose.”

“Yes; and it’s wounded my gentleman’s dignity considerably; so there he is below, hugging his gold, and comforting himself in his own way, which isn’t much in your line or Jacob’s, captain, and I wish it wasn’t in mine.”

“In other words,” said Captain Merryweather, “he’s pretty nearly drunk by this time.”

“You’re somewhere about right,” was the reply.  Immediately after this short dialogue the captain proceeded to give the orders for tacking in a stentorian voice, as the wind was high.

“Ready, ho! ready!” he cried.  All were standing ready at their posts.  Then the word was given to the man at the wheel.

“Helm’s a-lee!” roared the captain.  There was rattling of chains, flapping of canvas, and shuffling of feet.

“Mainsail h-a-u-aul!” bellowed the captain in a prolonged shout.  Round went the great sail under the swift and strong pulls of willing hands.

“Let go, and h-a-u-aul!” once more roared out the captain in a voice of thunder.

It was just at this moment, when all was apparent confusion, when ropes were rattling, feet stamping, sails quivering, that Juniper Graves emerged from his cabin on to the main-deck, his head bare, and his sandy hair flying out wildly into the breeze.  His eyes were strained and bloodshot, and his whole appearance was that of a person in an agony of terror.  Aroused from his drunken sleep by the noise overhead, and terrified to find the vessel heeling over to the other side, he imagined, in his drunken bewilderment, that the ship had struck, and that himself and his gold were in danger of perishing with her.  Filled with frenzy at this idea, he rushed out upon deck, where the general apparent confusion confirmed his fears; then he sprung upon the bulwarks, gazed around him in utter dismay at the crew in busy motion about him, tottered on his insecure standing-ground, caught at a rope to save himself; missed it, and then, with a terrible shriek of horror and despair, fell headlong overboard into the boiling waters.

“Save him! oh, save him!” cried Frank Oldfield imploringly.  “Where is he?  Let me go, let me go,” he screamed, for he was about to plunge overboard, and the captain was holding him back with his powerful grasp.

“It’s no use, Mr Oldfield; it’ll only be two lives instead of one.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” besought Frank; “put the ship about lie-to throw over a hen-coop, a life-buoy, for mercy’s sake the poor wretch isn’t fit to die,” and he still struggled to free himself.

“Listen to reason, sir,” said the captain.  “We can do nothing; the ship’s running nine knots, and no one knows where to look for him; nothing can save him, miserable man; he’s sunk no doubt, at once, and all the faster for having his gold about him.”

“Can nothing be done?” cried Frank, beseechingly.

“Nothing, I assure you,” replied the other; “there’s not a trace of him to be seen, is there, Mr Walters?” The first mate shook his head.  “We’re far enough off now from the spot where he fell in.  It’s in mercy to you, sir, that he’s been taken away.”

Frank sank upon a seat, and buried his face in his hands, sobbing bitterly.

Yes; the tempter was gone, gone to his account suddenly cut off in the midst of his sins, hurried away in righteous retribution by the very death himself had planned for Jacob Poole.  Yes; the tempter was gone, and the tempted still remained.  Would he take home to his heart the lesson and warning God had thus sent him?  The tempter was gone, but, alas! the temptation was not gone.  Frank had even now in his cabin several flasks of that drink which had already borne such miserable fruits for himself and the guilty wretch just hurried into the presence of his offended God.  He had bought the spirits from Juniper at an exorbitant price, but would he use them now, after what had happened?  The night after Juniper’s awful death he sat in his cabin weeping.  Thoughts of home, of mother, father, Mary, crowded in upon his heart.  The days that once were, when he would have joined with real willingness and hearty earnestness the band of abstainers, as he sat in all boyish sincerity at Mr Bernard Oliphant’s table, eager to make the trial and bear the cross, were fresh upon his memory now.  And all the bitter past, with its shameful, degrading, sinful records, gathered its thick shadows round his soul.  What should he do?  He sank upon his knees and prayed prayed to be forgiven, prayed that he might do better and then he rose, and was in part comforted.  And now, what should he do with the spirits which were still in his possession?  He took them out and ranged the flasks on his berth.  His scuttle stood open.  One minute and he could have thrown them all into the sea.  Conscience said, “Do it, and do it at once.”  But another voice whispered, “Pity to waste so much good stuff; drink these out, but only a moderate quantity at a time, and then you can renounce the drink for ever.”  He listened to the second voice, and conscience sighed itself to sleep.

Alas! alas! what fiend like the fiend of drink?  It can steal away every good resolution, drown the voice of conscience, and make a man cheat himself into the belief that the indulgence of to-day is a warrant and guarantee for the abstinence of to-morrow.  Frank was satisfied; he felt sure that it would be wiser to wean himself gradually from his drinking habits; he would use the strictest moderation with his present little stock, and then he should more readily forsake it altogether when this was gone.  And so he continued to drink, but more and more sparingly, as he himself supposed, because he was really training himself to a gradual surrender of the drink, but in reality because he dreaded to be left altogether without it.  And so the taste was kept up during the remainder of the voyage, and Frank Oldfield landed on the shores of his native country with the thirst strong upon him.