As for him, he felt that the weight was all on his own shoulders. He
had worked hard, and was on the way to be rich. I do not know that he
thought much about money, but he thought very much of success. And he
was by nature anxious, sanguine, and impulsive. There might be before
him, within the next week, such desolation as would break his heart.
He knew men who had been ruined, and had borne their ruin almost
without a wail--who had seemed contented to descend to security and
mere absence from want. There was his own superintendent, Old Bates,
who, though he grumbled at every thing else, never bewailed his own
fate. But he knew of himself that any such blow would nearly kill
him--such a blow, that is, as might drive him from Gangoil, and force
him to be the servant instead of the master of men. Not to be master
of all around him seemed to him to be misery. The merchants at
Brisbane who took his wool and supplied him with stores had advanced
money when he first bought his run, and he still owed them some
thousands of pounds. The injury which a great fire would do him would
bring him to such a condition that the merchants would demand to have
their money repaid. He understood it all, and knew well that it was
after this fashion that many a squatter before him had been ruined.

"Speak a word to me about it," his wife said to him, imploringly,
when they were alone together that night.

"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!"