Paid in His Own Coin.
_In Suspense: a Gleam of Comfort.--Darkness Returns.--The Rock
Ahead.--Sir William Lends His Binocular.--Reappearance of an Old
Enemy.--A New Danger.--Out of the Frying-pan._
Peter found himself below this time, in the broad passage,
furnished with seats and tables for writing, which divided the
passengers' cabins. Above, he heard a confused stir and bustle
of excitement, the trampling of feet, the creaking and rattle of
chains, orders shouted in English and Hindustani. From the absence
of all vibration, in the vessel, it was evident that she had been
brought to. _Why?_
Peter guessed the cause only too easily: the unhappy Miss Davenport
had indeed succeeded in carrying out her rash design. She had
jumped overboard, and the captain had stopped the engines and
lowered a boat in the hope of picking her up before she sank! And
he himself--why was he skulking below like this? He had only too
much reason to fear that he must have been a witness of the fatal
leap; and, instead of plunging overboard to the rescue as a hero
ought, had rushed down here ignominiously.
Had he been observed? Was his connection with the tragedy
suspected? Could he venture up on deck and inform himself? He
tried, but his nerve failed him, and he sank into one of the chairs
in a state of almost unbearable suspense.
Just at this moment, he saw the skirts of a muslin gown appear at
the head of the broad companion which led to the dining-saloon.
Someone, a girl evidently, was descending. Presently he saw her
fully revealed--it was Miss Tyrrell.
Perhaps he had never been so glad to see her before. She was a
friend, a dear friend. She, at least, would sympathise with him,
would understand that it was not his fault if he had been too
late to avert a catastrophe. She was coming to him. Her eyes were
friendly and pitiful as they sought his. She, at least, did not
turn from him!
"How pale, how terribly pale you look!" she said. "You must nerve
yourself to see her--it cannot be long now!"
"Has she been brought on board yet?" he gasped. "Is--is there any
hope?"
"We shall know very soon. It is possible you may find that all is
at an end."
"Ah! you think so? But--but no one will say it was _my_ fault, will
they? I--I was ready to make any sacrifice--only somehow, when the
moment comes, I am apt to lose my presence of mind."
"Yes, I know," she said feelingly; "you are not quite yourself yet,
but I know you would make the sacrifice if your duty demanded it.
But she may have taken advantage of your absence to free herself
and you from all obligation, may she not?"
This suggestion comforted Peter.
"She _must_ have done!" he said. "Yes, of course. I could not be
expected to prevent it, if I wasn't there; and I wasn't, when it
came to the point. But, Miss Tyrrell, do you think that it is
really all over? She--she may come round after all!"
"She may--but of course, if it is true that she is engaged to
another, she can have no possible claim on _you_."
What a sensible right-minded way this girl had of looking at
things! thought Peter, not for the first time.
"Why, of course she can't!" he cried. "And it _is_ true. She is
engaged--to a fellow of the name of Alfred."
"You know that as a fact?" she exclaimed.
"I know it from her own lips, and I need not say that I should be
the last person to wish to--er--upset so desirable an arrangement."
"Why--_why_ didn't you tell me all this before?" she inquired.
"I--I didn't think it would interest you," he replied.
Here, to Peter's utter astonishment, she covered her face with her
hands.
"Not interest me!" she murmured at last. "Oh, how could you--how
_could_ you keep this from me? Can't you see--can't you guess what
a difference it has made in my feelings?"
It might be very dull of him, but he could _not_ perceive why the
fact of Miss Davenport's engagement to Alfred should affect Miss
Tyrrell so strangely as this!
"I may call you 'Peter' now," she said. "Oh, Peter, _how_ happy
you have made me! Why did you keep silence so long? It was too
quixotic! Don't you understand even yet?"
"No," said Peter blankly, "I'm afraid I don't."
"Then, if you are really so diffident, I--I must tell you that if
you were to ask a certain question once more, I might--I don't say
I should, but I might--meet it with a different answer!"
"Good heavens!" he ejaculated, involuntarily.
"But you must not ask me yet--not just yet. I must have time to
consider. I must tell papa before I decide anything. You _will_
wait a little longer, won't you, Peter?"
"Yes," he said, feeling limp, "I'll wait. I'd rather!"
She smiled radiantly upon him, and then fled lightly up the
companion, leaving him with fresh cause for uneasiness. He could
no longer doubt that, for some reason, she expected him to propose
to her, which it seemed he had already, in one of those confounded
extra minutes, been unprincipled enough to do! Now she had gone to
inform her father, the Judge, and he would have the disagreeable
task of disabusing them before long!
At this point he started, believing that he was visited by an
apparition; for a cabin-door opened, and Miss Davenport came out
and stood before him.
But she was so obviously flesh and blood--and so dry--that he soon
saw that all his anxiety on her account had been superfluous.
"Then you--you didn't jump overboard after all?" he faltered,
divided between relief and annoyance at having been made to come
back, as it were, on false pretences.
"You know who prevented me, and by what arguments!" she said, in a
low strained voice.
"_Do_ I?" he said, helplessly.
"Who should, if you do not? Did not you implore me not to leave
you, and declare that, if I would only have courage and wait, we
should be happy even yet? And I _did_ wait. For what, I ask you,
Peter Tourmalin--for _what_?"
"It's really no use asking _me_," he said, "for I've no idea!"
"I waited--to discover that all this time you have had a secret
understanding with another; that you are about to transfer your
fickle affections to--to that fair girl! Don't deny it, Peter! I
was listening. I see it all--all!"
"I wish to goodness _I_ did!" he said. "I never was in such a
muddle as this in my life. I can only assure you that if that young
lady really imagines that I am, or can be, anything more to her
than a friend, she is entirely mistaken. I was just about to go up
and explain as much to her father!"
"You are not deceiving me?" she asked, earnestly. "You are _sure_?"
"I will swear it, if you wish!" he replied.
"No," she said, relenting visibly, "your word is enough. I do
believe you, and I am almost happy again. So long as you do not
desert me, even Alfred loses half his terrors!"
"Exactly," he said; "and now, if you will excuse me, I'll just run
up on deck and settle this other business."
He went up to the hurricane-deck, and found the ship had anchored.
In front was a huge barren rock, with lines of forts, walls, and
telegraph poles; and at its base, a small white town huddled. They
had arrived at Gibraltar, which accounted for the absence of motion.
As he stood there, taking this in, he was accosted by Sir William
Tyrrell, who thrust his arm through Peter's in a friendly manner.
"My dear boy," said the Judge heartily, "Violet has just told me
the good news. I can only say that I am delighted--most delighted!
I have always felt a warm interest in you, ever since that affair
of----"
"Of the monkey," said Peter. "I am very glad to hear it, Sir
William; but--but I ought to tell you that I am afraid Miss Tyrrell
was--a little premature. She misinterpreted a remark of mine,
which, in point of fact, referred to somebody else altogether."
"Then you have no more reason than before for assuming that your
_fiançée_ has thrown you over. Am I to understand that?"
"No more reason than before," admitted Peter.
"And your uncertainty still continues? Very unsatisfactory, I must
say! I do think, my dear fellow, that, in your position, you should
have been more careful to refrain from betraying any interest in
Violet until you knew that you were free to speak. As it is, you
may have cast a shadow upon her young life that it will take years
to dispel!"
Peter's heart sank into his boots for very shame at this gentle and
almost paternal reproof.
"Yes," continued the worthy Judge, "Violet is a high-minded girl,
scrupulously sensitive on points of honour; and, unless the young
lady you are under a semi-engagement to should release you of her
own free will, I know my daughter too well to doubt that she will
counsel you to fulfil your contract and renounce all hope so far as
she is concerned."
Peter felt a little easier.
"I--I am prepared to do that," he said.
"Well, I don't say myself that I go quite so far as she does; but
strictly, no doubt, a promise is a promise, and should be kept
at all hazards. You have done all that a man can honourably do
to put himself right. You have written to this young lady, so I
understand, informing her of the change in your sentiments, and
offering, nevertheless, to redeem your promise if she insisted upon
it. I think that was the general purport of your letter?"
Here was one more evil fruit of his extra time! What would Sophia
think, or say, or do, if such a letter as that ever came to her
knowledge? Fortunately, that at least was impossible!
"You have some grounds," the Judge went on, "for assuming that the
lady has already treated the contract as non-existent--a person
called Alfred, I think my daughter said?"
"No, that was a mistake," explained Peter. "Alfred is engaged to
quite a different person."
"Well, in any case, it is quite possible that you may obtain your
release when you meet her; and your suspense will soon be over
now. Miss--er--Pincher, is it?--will probably be on board the ship
before many minutes. I see the boats are putting out from the
harbour already."
"_What!_" cried Peter, with the terrible conviction darting through
his mind that Sir William spoke the bare truth.
Sophia had said something about meeting him at Gibraltar; but if
she had done so during the real voyage, how could he have the
meeting all over again, with this ghastly variation? If he could
only remember whether she had come out, or not! It was singular,
incomprehensible! But his memory was a blank on such a vital fact
as this!
"Would you like to have my field-glass for a moment?" said Sir
William, considerately.
Peter took it, and the next moment the binocular fell from his
nerveless hands. He had seen only too clearly the familiar form of
Sophia seated in the peaked stern of a small craft, which a Spanish
boatman was "scissoring" through the waves towards the _Boomerang_.
"Come, courage!" said the Judge kindly, as he picked up his glass
and wiped the lenses. "Don't be nervous, my boy. You don't know
what she may have to say to you yet, you know!"
"No, I don't!" he groaned. "I--I think I ought to go down to the
gangway and meet her," he added, tremulously,--not that he had any
intention of doing so, but he wanted to be alone.
Before the Judge could even express his approbation of Peter's
course, Tourmalin was down on the saloon-deck seeking a quiet spot
wherein to collect his thoughts.
Before he could find the quiet spot, however, he almost ran into
the arms of the matron from Melbourne, whom he had not seen since
the episode of the music-room.
"A word with you, Mr. Tourmalin!" she said.
"I--I really can't stop now," stammered Peter. "I--I'm expecting
friends!"
"I, too," she said, "am expecting a relation, and it is for that
reason that I wish to speak to you now. My brother, who has
been staying at Gibraltar on account of his health, will be as
determined as I am to trace and punish the infamous calumny upon
the name and career of our honoured parent."
"I daresay, madam," said Peter,--"I daresay. Very creditable to you
both--but I really can't stop just now!"
"You appear to forget, sir, that, unless you can satisfactorily
establish your innocence, my brother will certainly treat you as
the person primarily responsible for an atrocious slander!"
"A slander--upon your father!... _Me?_" said the indignant Peter.
"Why, I never _heard_ of the gentleman!"
"Denial will not serve you now," she said. "I have not only your
own admissions in the music-room, but the evidence of more than one
trustworthy witness, to prove that you circulated a report that my
dear father--one of the most honoured and respected citizens of
Melbourne--began his Colonial career as--as a transported convict!"
After all, as the hapless Peter instantly saw, he _might_ have said
so, for anything he knew, in one of those still unexhausted extra
quarters of an hour!
"If I said so, I was misinformed," he said.
"Just so; and in our conversation on the subject, you mentioned the
name of the person who used you as his mouthpiece to disseminate
his malicious venom. What I wish to know now is, whether you are
prepared or not to repeat that statement?"
Peter recollected now that he had used expressions implicating
Mr. Perkins, although merely as the origin of totally different
complications.
"I can't positively go so far as that," he said. "I--I made the
statement generally."
"As you please," she said. "I can merely say that my brother, whom
I expect momentarily, is, although an invalid in some respects, a
powerful and determined man; and unless you repeat in his presence
the sole excuse you have to offer, he will certainly horsewhip you
in the presence of the other passengers. That is all, sir!"
"Thank you--it's quite enough!" murmured Peter, thinking that
Alfred himself could hardly be much more formidable; and he slipped
down the companion to the cabin-saloon, where he found Miss
Davenport anxiously expecting him.
"He is here," she whispered. "I have just seen him through the
port-hole."
"What--the old lady's brother!" he replied.
"He has _no_ sister who is an old lady. I mean Alfred."
"_Alfred?_" he almost yelped. "Alfred _here!_"
"Of course he is here. Is not his battalion quartered at Gibraltar?
You knew it; we were to meet him here!"
"I didn't, indeed--or I should never have come!" he protested.
"Don't let us waste words now. He is here; he will demand an
explanation from you. He has his pistol with him--I could tell by
the bulge under his coat. We must both face him; and the question
is, What are you going to say?"
Peter thrust his hands through his carefully-parted hair:
"Say?" he repeated. "I shall tell him the simple, straightforward
truth. I shall frankly admit that we have walked, and sat, and
talked together; but I shall assure him, as I can honestly, that
during the whole course of our acquaintance I have never once
regarded you in any other light but that of a friend."
"And you suppose that, knowing how I have changed, he will believe
that!" she cried. "He will fire long before you can finish one of
those fine sentences!"
"In that case," suggested Peter, "why tell him anything at all? Why
not spare him, poor fellow, at all events for the time? It will
only upset him just now. Let him suppose that we are strangers to
one another; and you can break the truth to him gently when you
reach England, you know. I 'm sure that's _much_ the more sensible
plan!"
She broke into strange mirthless laughter.
"Your prudence comes too late," she said. "You forget that the
truth was broken to him some days ago, in the letter I wrote from
Brindisi."
"You wrote and broke it to him at Brindisi!" cried Peter. "What
induced you to do _that_?"
"Why, _you!_" she retorted. "You insisted that it was due to him;
and though I knew better than you what the effect would be, I dared
not tell you the whole truth. I wanted to end the engagement, too;
and I scarcely cared then what consequences might follow. Now they
are upon us, and it is useless to try to escape them. Since we
_must_ die, let us go up on deck and get it over!"
"One moment," he said; "Alfred can wait a little. I--I must go to
my cabin first, and put on a clean collar."
And with this rather flimsy pretext, he again made his escape.
He made up his mind what to do as he rushed towards his cabin.
He could hardly have been anything like an hour on board the
_Boomerang_ as yet; he had to get through at least another three
before he could hope for deliverance. His only chance was to
barricade himself inside his cabin, and steadfastly refuse to come
out, upon any consideration whatever, until he was released by the
natural expiration of time.
He sped down the passage, and found, to his horror, that he had
forgotten the number of his berth. However, he knew where it ought
to be, and darted into an open door, which he fastened securely
with hook and bolt, and sank breathless on one of the lower berths.
"You seem in a hurry, my friend!" said a voice opposite; and
Peter's eyes, unused at first to the comparative dimness, perceived
that a big man was sitting on the opposite berth, engaged in
putting on a pair of spiked cricket-shoes. He had bolted himself
inside the cabin with Mr. Perkins!