Part 4 (2/2)

”My darling, if there were a word to say, I would say it. I must be on the watch, and do the best I can. At present the earth is too damp for mischief.”

”Oh that it would rain again!”

”There will be heat enough before the summer is over; we need not doubt that. But I will tell you of every thing as we go on. I will endeavor to have the man watched. G.o.d bless you! Go to sleep, and try to get it out of your thoughts.”

On the following morning he breakfasted early, and mounted his horse without saying a word as to the purport of his journey. This was in accordance with the habit of his life, and would not excite observation; but there was something in his manner which made both the ladies feel that he was intent on some special object. When he intended simply to ride round his fences or to visit the hut of some distant servant, a few minutes signified nothing. He would stand under the veranda and talk, and the women would endeavor to keep him from the saddle. But now there was no loitering, and but little talking. He said a word to Jacko, who brought the horse for him, and then started at a gallop toward the wool-shed.

He did not stop a moment at the shed, not even entering it to see whether the heap of leaves had been displaced during the night, but went on straight to Medlicot's Mill. He rode the nine miles in an hour, and at once entered the building in which the canes were crushed. The first man he met was Nokes, who acted as overseer, having a gang of Polynesian laborers under him--sleek, swarthy fellows from the South Sea Islands, with linen trowsers on and nothing else--who crept silently among the vats and machinery, s.h.i.+fting the sugar as it was made.

”Well, Nokes,” said Harry, ”how are you getting on? Is Mr. Medlicot here?”

Nokes was a big fellow, with a broad, solid face, which would not have condemned him among physiognomists but for a bad eye, which could not look you in the face. He had been a boundary rider for Heathcote, and on an occasion had been impertinent, refusing to leave the yard behind the house unless something was done which those about the place refused to do for him. During the discussion Harry had come in. The man had been drinking, and was still insolent, and Harry had ejected him violently, thrusting him over a gate. The man had returned the next morning, and had then been sent about his business.

He had been employed at Medlicot's Mill, but from the day of his dismissal to this he and Harry had never met each other face to face.

”I'm pretty well, thank ye, Mr. Heathcote. I hope you're the same, and the ladies. The master's about somewhere, I take it.--Picky, go and find the master.” Picky was one of the Polynesians, who at once started on his errand.

”Have you been over to Gangoil since you left it?” said Harry, looking the man full in the face.

”Not I, Mr. Heathcote. I never go where I've had words. And, to tell you the truth, sugar is better than sheep. I'm very comfortable here, and I never liked your work.”

”You haven't been at the wool-shed?”

”What, the Gangoil shed! What the blazes 'd I go there for? It's a matter of ten miles from here.”

”Seven, Nokes.”

”Seven, is it? It is a longish seven miles, Mr. Heathcote. How could I get that distance? I ain't so good at walking as I was before I was hurt. You should have remembered that, Mr. Heathcote, when you laid hands on me the other day.”

”You're not much the worse for what I did; nor yet for the accident, I take it. At any rate, you've not been at Gangoil wool-shed?”

”No, I've not,” said the man, roughly. ”What the mischief should I be doing at your shed at night-time?”

”I said nothing about night-time.”

”I'm here all day, ain't I? If you're going to palm off any story against me, Mr. Heathcote, you'll find yourself in the wrong box.

What I does I does on the square.”

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 a.s.sist himself in circ.u.mventing the man's villainy by keeping his suspense to himself. The man might be frightened, and in spite of all that had pa.s.sed 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.”

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