Compound Interest.
_Back to the Fire Again.--A Magnanimous Return.--Catching
at Straws.--Two Total Strangers.--Purely a Question of
Precedence.--"Hemmed in" and "Surrounded."--The Last Chance._
The Bank Manager looked across at Peter with an amused smile; he
seemed quite friendly. Whether he was in Peter's cabin, or Peter
in his, did not appear; and perhaps it was not of much consequence
either way. If the cabin belonged to Mr. Perkins, he did not, at
all events, appear to resent the intrusion.
"You seem rather put out about something," he said again, as Peter
was still too short of breath for words.
"Oh, no," panted Peter, "it's nothing. There was so much bustle
going on above, that I thought I'd come in here for a little quiet;
that's all."
"Well," said the Manager, "I'm glad you looked in; for, as it
happens, you're the very man I wanted to see. I daresay you're
wondering why I'm putting on these things?"
Peter nodded his head, which was all he felt equal to.
"Why, I've just been having a talk with that old she-griffin from
Melbourne. Perhaps you don't know that her brother is coming on
board directly?"
"Oh yes, I _do!_" said Peter.
"Well, it seems she means to denounce me to him as the slanderer
of her father. She may, if she chooses; my conscience is perfectly
clear on that score. No one can bring anything of the sort home to
me; and I've no doubt I shall soon satisfy him that I'm as innocent
as an unborn babe. Still, I want you, as a respectable man and the
only real friend I have on board, to come with me and be my witness
that you never heard such a rumour from my lips; and besides, sir,
we shall have an opportunity at last of seeing the unutterable
scamp who has had the barefaced impudence to say I told him this
precious story! She's going to produce him, sir; and if he dares to
stand me out to my face--well, _he_'ll know why I've put on these
shoes! Come along; I can't let you off."
Peter dared not refuse, for fear of attracting his friend's
suspicions. He could only trust to slipping away in the confusion;
and so, unfastening the cabin-door, the Manager caught the
unresisting Tourmalin tightly by the arm, and hurried him along the
central passage and up the companion.
Even Miss Davenport would have been a welcome diversion at that
moment; but she was not there to intercept him, and he reached the
upper deck more dead than alive.
"Where's that old vixen _now?_" exclaimed the Manager, dropping
Peter's arm. "Here, just stay where you are a minute, till I find
her and her confounded brother!"
He bustled off, leaving Tourmalin by the davits, quite incapable of
action of any kind in the presence of this new and awful dilemma.
He had been spreading a cruel and unjustifiable slander against
an irreproachable Colonial magnate, whose son was now at hand to
demand reparation with a horsewhip. He could only propitiate him by
denouncing Perkins as his informant, and if he did that he would be
kicked from one end of the ship to the other with a spiked boot!
This was Nemesis indeed, and it was Sophia who had insisted upon
his exposing himself to it. What a fool he was not to fly back to
that cabin, while he could!
He turned to flee, and as he did so a hand was passed softly
through his arm.
"Not _that_ way, Peter!" said Miss Tyrrell's voice.
A wild, faint hope came to him that he might be going to receive
one of the back quarters of an hour. The caprices of the Time
Cheques were such that it was quite possible he would be thrown
back into an earlier interview. Little as he felt inclined for any
social intercourse just then, he saw that it would afford him a
brief interlude--would at least give him breathing-time before his
troubles began again.
"I will go wherever you choose," he said; "I am in your hands."
"I came," she said, "to take you to her. She is asking for you."
"She?" said Peter. "For heaven's sake, _who?_"
"Why, Miss Pinceney, of course. I knew who it was directly I saw
her face. Peter, is it true, as papa tells me, that I misunderstood
you just now--that she is _not_ engaged to Alfred?"
"Alfred? No!" he replied. "If she is engaged to anyone at all, I
have strong grounds for supposing it's to me!"
"Then we must submit, that is all," said Miss Tyrrell. "But we do
not know her decision yet; there is still hope!"
"Yes," he said, "there is hope still. Let us go to her; make haste!"
He meant what he said. Sophia could at least extricate him
from a portion of his difficulties. Miss Tyrrell--magnanimous
and unselfish girl that she was, in spite of her talent for
misapprehension--was ready to resign him to a prior claim, if one
was made. And Sophia was bound to claim him; for if the engagement
between them had been broken off, he could not now be her husband,
as he was. Even Time Cheques must recognise accomplished facts.
He followed her across the ship, turning down the very passage in
which he had sat through more than one cheque with Miss Davenport;
and on the opposite side he found Sophia standing, with her usual
composure, waiting for his arrival.
She was so identically the same Sophia that he had left so lately,
that he felt reassured. She, at least, could not be the dupe of all
this. She had come--how, he did not trouble himself to think,--but
she had come with the benevolent intention of saving him!
"How do you do, my love?" he began. "I--I thought I should see you
here."
"You only see me here, Peter," she replied, in a voice that
trembled slightly, in spite of her efforts to command it, "because
I felt very strongly that it was my duty to put an end at the
earliest moment to a situation which has become impossible!"
"I'm sure," said Peter, "it is quite time it _was_ put an end
to--it couldn't go on like this much longer."
"It shall not, if I can help it," she said. "Miss Tyrrell, pray
don't go away; what I have to say concerns you too."
"No; don't go away, Miss Tyrrell," added Peter, who felt the
most perfect confidence in Sophia's superior wisdom, and was
now persuaded that somehow it was all going to be explained.
"Sir William, will you kindly step this way too? Sir William
Tyrrell--Miss Pinceney. Miss Pinceney has something to tell you
which will make my position thoroughly clear."
"I have only to say," she said, "that your honourable and
straightforward conduct, Peter, has touched me to the very heart. I
feel that I am the only person to blame, for it was I who insisted
upon your subjecting yourself to this test."
"It was," said Peter. "I told you something would happen--and it
has!"
"I would never hold you to a union from which all love on your
side had fled; do not think so, Peter. And now that I see my--my
rival, I confess that I could expect no other result. So, dear Miss
Tyrrell, I resign him to you freely--yes, cheerfully--for, by your
womanly self-abnegation you have proved yourself the worthier. Take
her, Peter; you have my full consent!"
"My dear young lady," said the Judge, deeply affected, "this is
most noble of you! Allow me to shake you by the hand."
"I can't thank you, dear, _dear_ Miss Pinceney!" sobbed his
daughter. "Peter, tell her for me how we shall both bless and love
her all our lives for this!"
Peter's brain reeled. Was _this_ Sophia's notion of getting him out
of a difficulty?
As he gazed distractedly around, his eyes became fixed and glazed
with a new terror. A stalwart stranger, with a bushy red beard, was
coming towards him, with a stout riding-whip in his right hand.
By his side walked the Manager, from whose face all vestige of
friendliness had vanished.
"As soon as you have quite finished your conversation with these
ladies," said the Manager, with iron politeness, "this gentleman
would be glad of a few moments with you; after which I shall
request your attention to a little personal affair of my own. Don't
let us _hurry_ you, you know!"
"I--I won't," returned Peter, flurriedly; "but I'm rather busy just
now: a little later, I--I shall be delighted."
As he stood there, he was aware that they had withdrawn to a bench
some distance away, where they conferred with the elderly lady
from Melbourne. He could feel their angry glare upon him, and it
contributed to rob him of the little self-possession he had left.
"Sophia," he faltered piteously, "I say, this is too bad--it is,
really! You _can't_ mean to leave me in such a hole as this--do
let's get home at once!"
Before she could make any reply to an appeal which seemed to
astonish her considerably, a thin, bilious-looking man, with a
face twitching with nervous excitement, a heavy black moustache,
and haggard eyes, in which a red fire smouldered, appeared at the
gangway and joined the group.
"I beg your pardon," he said, lifting his hat; "forgive me if I
interrupt you, but my business is urgent--most urgent! Perhaps you
could kindly inform me if there is a--a gentleman" (the word cost
him a manifest struggle to pronounce)--"a gentleman on board of the
name of Tourmalin? I have a little matter of business" (here his
right hand stole to his breast-pocket) "to transact with him," he
explained, with a sinister smile that caused Peter to give suddenly
at the knees.
"It's that infernal Alfred!" he thought. "Now I _am_ done for!"
"Why," said Miss Tyrrell, who was clinging affectionately to
Peter's arm, "_this_ is Mr. Tourmalin! You can speak to him
now--here, if you choose. We have no secrets from one another--have
we, Peter?"
"I have lately learnt," said the gloomy man, "that a certain Mr.
Tourmalin has stolen from me the affection of one who was all
heaven and earth to me!"
"Then it _must_ be another Mr. Tourmalin," said Miss Tyrrell, "not
this one; because--surely you do not need to be told that you
have no rivalry to fear from him?" she broke off, with a blush of
charming embarrassment.
Alfred's scowl distinctly relaxed, and Peter felt that, after all,
this unfortunate misunderstanding on Miss Tyrrell's part might
prove serviceable to him. Since Sophia, for reasons of her own,
refused to assist him, he must accept any other help that offered
itself.
"The best proof I can give you of my innocence," he said, "is to
mention that I have the honour to be engaged to this lady."
He heard a stifled shriek from behind him as he made this
assertion, and the next moment Miss Davenport, who must have come
up in time to catch the last words, had burst into the centre of
the group.
"It is not true!" she cried. "Alfred, you must not believe him!"
"Not _true?_" exclaimed Alfred, Sophia, Miss Tyrrell, and Sir
William, in the same breath.
"No!" said Miss Davenport; "at least, if he has really engaged
himself, it is within the last few minutes, and with the chivalrous
intention of shielding _me!_ Peter, I will not be shielded by such
means. Our love is too precious to be publicly denied. I cannot
suffer it; I will acknowledge it, though it costs me my life! You,"
she added, turning to Sophia,--"you can prove that I speak the
truth. It was to you that I confided, that day we met on deck, the
story of our fatal attachment."
"I really think you must be mistaken," said Sophia, coldly. "If you
confided such a story to anybody, it could not have been to me;
for, until a few minutes ago, I had never set foot upon this ship."
How Sophia could stand there and, remembering, as she must do, her
recent appropriation of the Time Cheque, tell such a downright fib
as this, passed Peter's comprehension. But, as her statement was in
his favour so far as it went, he knew better than to contradict it.
"Whether it was you or not," insisted Miss Davenport, "it is he and
no one else who rendered my engagement to Alfred utterly repugnant
to me! Can you look at him now, and doubt me longer?"
"So, Peter," said Sophia severely, "you could not even be faithful
to your unfaithfulness!"
Miss Tyrrell made no comment, but she dropped his arm as if it had
scorched her fingers, whereupon Miss Davenport clung to it in her
stead, to Peter's infinite dismay and confusion.
"He _is_ faithful!" she cried. "It is only a mistaken sense of
honour that made him apparently false. Yes, Alfred, what I wrote
to you, and the postscript he added, is the simple truth. We cannot
command our own hearts. Such love as I once had for you is dead--it
died on the fatal day which brought him across my path. We met--we
love; deal with us as you will! I would rather, ever so much
rather, die with him than lose him now!"
Alfred was already beginning to fumble fiercely in his
breast-pocket. Peter felt the time had arrived for plain
speaking; he could not submit to be butchered under a ridiculous
misapprehension of this kind.
"Listen to me!" he said eagerly, "before you do anything rash, or
you may bitterly regret it afterwards. I do assure you that I am
the victim--we are _all_ the victims of a series of unfortunate
cheques--I should say, mistakes. It's absurd to make me responsible
for the irregular proceedings of a nonsensical Bank. If I had spent
my time as I ought to have done _at_ the time, instead of putting
it out on deposit, I should never have dreamed of employing it in
any kind of philandering!"
"That," said Sophia, "is undeniable: but you spent it as you ought
_not_ to have done!"
"Such a speech comes ill from you," he said, reproachfully,
"after having expressly condoned the past; and, however I may
have appeared to philander, I can conscientiously declare that
my sentiments towards both of these young ladies--_both_, you
understand--have been restricted to a respectful and--and merely
friendly esteem.... Don't shoot, Alfred!... I thought that was
quite understood on all sides. Only have a little more patience,
Alfred, and I will undertake to convince even you that I could not
for a moment have contemplated depriving you of the hand of this
extremely charming and attractive lady, who will _not_ let go my
arm.... I--I am a married man!"
"Married!" shrieked Miss Davenport, cowering back.
"Married!" exclaimed Miss Tyrrell, as she hid her face upon her
father's shoulder.
"Married!" shouted the Judge. "By heavens, sir, you shall account
to me for this!"
"Married!" cried Sophia. "Oh, Peter, I was _not_ prepared for this!
When? Where?"
"_When? Where?_" he echoed. "You were not prepared for it? Perhaps
you will ask me next who my wife is!"
"I shall not indeed," said Sophia, "for I have no longer the
slightest curiosity on such a subject!"
Peter collapsed upon the nearest bench.
"Sophia?" he cried hoarsely, "why keep this up any longer? Surely
it is gone far enough--you _can't_ pretend you don't know!"
But while he spoke the words, he saw suddenly that his attempt
to force her hand was hopeless: she was quite sincere in her
surprise; she was the Sophia of _six months ago_, and no amount of
explanation could ever make her comprehend what had happened since
that time!
And here Alfred broke his silence.
"What you have just confessed," he said, "removes my last scruple.
I might, for all I can tell, have stayed my hand and spared your
life upon your promise to make Maud happy; for, in spite of her
treatment of me, her happiness is still my first consideration. But
now you have declared that impossible,--why, as soon as I can get
this revolver out of my pocket--for it has stuck in the confounded
lining--I will shoot you like a rabbit!"
"Sir William," cried Peter, "I appeal to you! You are the
representative of Law and Order here. He is threatening a breach
of the Peace--the _Queen's_ Peace! I call upon you to interfere!"
"I am no advocate," said Sir William, with judicial calm, "for
taking the law into one's own hands. I even express a hope that
this gentleman will not carry out his avowed intention, at least
until I have had time to withdraw, and I must not be understood to
approve his action in any way. At the same time, I am distinctly
of opinion that he has received sufficient provocation to excuse
even such extreme measures, and that the fate he threatens will, if
summary, at least be richly deserved."
"I think so too," said Sophia, "though it would be painful to be
compelled to witness it!"
"Terrible!" agreed Miss Tyrrell. "Let us hide our eyes, dear!"
"Stay, Alfred!" Miss Davenport implored, "have some pity!
Think--with all your faults, you are a keen sportsman--you would
not shoot even a rabbit sitting! Give Mr. Tourmalin a start of a
few seconds--let him have a run before you fire!"
All this time Alfred was still fumbling for and execrating the
obstinate weapon.
"I decline to run!" Peter cried from his seat; he knew too well
that he could not stir a limb. "Shoot me sitting, or not at all,
but don't keep me waiting any longer!"
His prayer seemed likely to be granted, for Alfred had at last
succeeded in extricating the revolver; but before he could take
aim, the Bank Manager and the Melbourne man ran in and interposed.
"Hold on one minute, sir," they said; "we, too, have business
with the gentleman on the seat there, and you will admit that it
must be concluded before yours, if it is to be settled at all. We
must really ask you to postpone your little affair until we have
finished. We will not keep you waiting any longer than we can help."
The Judge, with an ostentatious indifference, had strolled away to
the smoking-room, probably to avoid being called upon to decide
so nice a point as this disputed precedence; his daughter, Miss
Davenport, and Sophia had turned their backs, and, stopping their
ears, were begging to be told when all was over.
Alfred was struggling to free his pistol-arm, which was firmly held
by the other two men, and all three were talking at once in hot and
argumentative support of their claims. As for Peter, he sat and
looked on, glued to his seat by terror: if he had any preference
among the disputants, he rather hoped that Alfred would be the
person to gain his point.
All at once he saw Sophia turn round and, with her fingers still
pressed to her ears, make energetic contortions of her lips,
evidently for his benefit. After one or two repetitions, he made
out the words she was voicelessly framing.
"_Run for it!_" he interpreted. "_Quick ... while you can!_"
With his habitual respect for her advice, he rose and, finding that
the power of motion had suddenly returned, he _did_ run for it; he
slipped quietly round the corner and down the passage to the other
side of the ship, where he hoped to reach the saloon-entrance, and
eventually regain his cabin.
Unhappily for him, the grim lady from Melbourne had noted his
flight and anticipated its object. Long before he got to the
open doors, he saw her step out and bar the way; she had an open
sunshade in her hand, which she was preparing to use as a butterfly
net.
He turned and fled abruptly in the opposite direction, intending to
cross the bridge which led aft to the second-class saloon deck,
where he might find cover: but as he saw, on turning the corner,
the Manager had already occupied the passage, Peter turned again
and doubled back across the ship, making for the forecastle; but he
was too late, for the Melbourne man was there before him, and cut
off all hope of retreat in that quarter.
There was only one thing left now: he must take to the rigging, and
accordingly the next moment, scarcely knowing how he came there, he
was clambering up the shrouds for dear life!
Higher and higher he climbed, slipping and stumbling, and catching
his unaccustomed feet in the ratlins at every step; and all the way
he had a dismal conviction that as yet he had not nearly exhausted
the cheque he had drawn. He must have at least another couple of
hours to get through, not to mention the compound interest, which
the Bank seemed characteristically enough to be paying first.
Still, if he could only stay quietly up aloft till his time was up,
he might escape the worst yet. Surely it was a sufficient penalty
for his folly to have embroiled himself with every creature he
knew; to have been chivied about the deck of an ocean steamer by
three violent men, each thirsting for his blood; and to be reduced
to mount the rigging like an escaped monkey!
A few more steps and he was safe at last! Just above was a huge
yard, flattened on the upper surface, with a partially furled sail,
behind which he could crouch unseen; his hands were almost upon it,
when a bronzed and bearded face appeared above the canvas--it was
one of the English crew.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said the man, civilly enough, "but I shall
'ave fur to trouble you to go down agin, please. Capt'in's strick
orders, sir. Passengers ain't allowed to amuse theirselves climbing
the rigging!"
"My good man!" said Peter, between his pants, "do I _look_ as if
I was amusing myself? I am pursued, I tell you. As an honest,
good-hearted British seaman--which I am sure you are,--I entreat
you to give me a hand up, and hide me: it--it may be life or death
for me!"
The man wavered; the desperate plight Peter was in seemed to arouse
his compassion, as it well might.
"I _could_ 'ide yer, I suppose, come to that," he said slowly; "but
it's too late to think o' that now. Look below, sir!"
Peter glanced down between his feet, and saw two swarthy Lascars
climbing the rigging like cats. Lower still, he had a bird's-eye
view of the deck, about which his enemies were posted in readiness
for his arrival: the Manager exhibiting his spiked boots to Sir
William, who shook his head in mild deprecation; the old lady
brandishing her sunshade in angry denunciation, while her brother
flourished his horsewhip; and Alfred stood covering him with his
revolver, prepared to pick him off the instant he came within range!
And Peter hung there by his hands--for his feet had slipped out
of the ratlins--as helpless a target as any innocent bottle in a
shooting-gallery, and the Lascars were getting nearer and nearer!
He could see their bilious eyeballs, and their teeth gleaming in
their dusky faces. He felt a bony hand reaching for his ankles, and
then a dizziness came over him: his grip upon the coarse, tarry
cordage relaxed, and, shutting his eyes, he fell--down--down--down.
Would the fall never come to an end? Would he never arrive?...