Heathcote was now quite sure that Jacko had been right.  He had not doubted much before, but now he did not doubt at all but that the man with whom he was speaking was the wretch who was endeavoring to ruin him.  And he felt certain, also, that Jacko was true to him.  He knew, too, that he had plainly declared his suspicion to the man himself.  But he had resolved upon doing this.  He could in no way assist himself in circumventing the man’s villainy by keeping his suspense to himself.  The man might be frightened, and in spite of all that had passed between him and Medlicot, he still thought it possible that he might induce the sugar grower to co-operate with him in driving Nokes from the neighborhood.  He had spent the night in thinking over it all, and this was the resolution to which he had come.

“There’s the master,” said Nokes.  “If you’ve got any thing to say about any thing, you’d better say it to him.”

Harry had never before set his foot upon Medlicot’s land since it had been bought away from his own run, and had felt that he would almost demean himself by doing so.  He had often looked at the canes from over his own fence, as he had done on the night of the rain; but he had stood always on his own land.  Now he was in the sugar-mill, never before having seen such a building.  “You’ve a deal of machinery here, Mr. Medlicot,” he said.

“It’s a small affair, after all,” said the other.  “I hope to get a good plant before I’ve done.”

“Can I speak a word with you?”

“Certainly.  Will you come into the office, or will you go across to the house?”

Harry said that the office would do, and followed Medlicot into a little box-like inclosure which contained a desk and two stools.

“Not much of an office, is it?  What can I do for you, Mr. Heathcote?”

Then Harry began his story, which he told at considerable length.  He apologized for troubling his neighbor at all on the subject, and endeavored to explain, somewhat awkwardly, that as Mr. Medlicot was a new-comer, he probably might not understand the kind of treatment to which employers in the bush were occasionally subject from their men.  On this matter he said much, which, had he been a better tactician, he might probably have left unspoken.  He then went on to the story of his own quarrel with Nokes, who had, in truth, been grossly impudent to the women about the house, but who had been punished by instant and violent dismissal from his employment.  It was evidently Harry’s idea that a man who had so sinned against his master should be allowed to find no other master—­at any rate in that district; an idea with which the other man, who had lately come out from the old country, did not at all sympathize.

“Do you want me to dismiss him?” said Medlicot, in a tone which implied that that would be the last thing he would think of doing.

“You haven’t heard me yet.”  Then Harry went on and told of the fires in the heat of summer, and of their terrible effects—­of the easy manner of revenge which they supplied to angry, unscrupulous men, and of his own fears at the present moment.