She had turned cold as ice, and was saying over and over to herself, "The murderer, the murderer." She hurried to finish her business and get out into the open air, for in the store she felt stifled.

She had never before seen, to her knowledge, this Clarkson, whom she accused in her heart; and now his evil countenance, his harsh voice and brutal laugh had thrown her into a sudden terror and tumult.
As she walked quickly along, she remembered a story she had heard of him, when and how she scarcely knew, but the story itself came back to her mind with singular distinctness.
A poor boy, an orphan, had been engaged by Clarkson as a servant.

Much of the hard rough work about the kind of bush farm established by the squatter, fell to his share; he was not ill fed, for Mrs.Clarkson saw to that, but his promised wages never were paid.

The lad complained to his few acquaintance that nearly the whole sum due to him for two years' service was still in his master's hands, and though he dared not let Clarkson know that he had complained, he took courage, by their advice, to threaten him with the law.

One day soon after this, Clarkson and his servant were both engaged loading a kind of raft, or flat boat, with various produce for market.