 CHAPTER V. PERIODIC DRAWINGS Whether it was natural sin on Peter's part, or an excusable spirit of revolt against the oppression of an orary which Sophia succeeded in picking up a great bargain at an auction somewhere, his drafts on the Anglo-Australian time bank did not end with the one recorded in the preceding chapter, and which was more discreditable still, he no longer pretended to himself that he meant to stop until his balance was completely exhausted. His only care now was to economise, to regulate his expenditure by spreading his drawings over as long a period as possible. With this object he made a careful calculation and found there were still several hours to his credit, whereupon, lest he should yield to the temptation of drawing too much at any one time, he made out a number of checks for fifteen minutes apiece and limited himself to one a week, an allowance which even under the severest provocation he rarely permitted himself to exceed. These weekly excursions, short as they were, were a source of the greatest comfort to him, especially now that he had thrown off any idea of moral responsibility. By degrees he possessed himself of most of the back numbers, if they may be so termed, of his dual romance. At one time he found himself being presented by the grateful Sir William to his daughter, and now that he knew what service he had rendered the judge, he was less at sea than he would certainly have been otherwise. Another time he discovered himself in the act of dragging Miss Davenport unceremoniously back from the bulwarks, but here again his memory furnished him with the proper excuse for conduct which, considering that he was not supposed to be acquainted with her, he might have found it difficult to account for satisfactorily. So after all, there did seem to be a sort of method in the operation of the time arbitrary as it appeared. One fact that went far to reconcile him to his own conscience was the circumstance that, though the relations he stood in toward both young ladies, varied at each interview with the most bewildering uncertainty, so that one week he would be upon the closest and most confidential terms, and the next be thrown back into the conventional formality of a first introduction. These relations never again approached the dangerous level of sentiment which had so alarmed him. He flattered himself that the judicious attitude he was adopting to both was correcting the false impressions which might have, and for that matter actually had, been given. He was always pleased to see them again, whichever one it was. They were simply charming friends, frank, natural, unaffected girls, and not too clever. Sometimes indeed he recognized and it is best to discourage symptoms of adorning tenderness on their part which it was not in his power to reciprocate. Peter was in no danger of losing his heart to either. Possibly the attractions of each served as a conductor to protect him from the influence of the other. He enjoyed their society, their evident appreciation of all he said and did, but that was all, and as they recognized that there could be no closer bond than that of cordial friendship between them, he was relieved of all misgivings. Surely it was a blameless and legitimate manner even for a married man of spending the idle moments which belonged properly to the days of his bachelorhood. Still he did not confide this harmless secret of his to Sophia. He might tell her when it was all over, but not so long as her disapproval could affect his plans, and he had an instinct that such a story as he had to tell would fail to appeal to a person of her accurately logical habit of mind. So on one occasion when he discovered that he had lost one of the loose checks he now carried constantly about with him, it was with a feeling very like panic that he reflected that he might have dropped it about the house, where its unusual form would inevitably provoke Sophia's curiosity, and he was much reassured when he was able to conclude from the fact that she made no reference to it that he must have lost it out of those. It must have been some time after this before his serenity again met with a slight shock. He was walking up and down the deck with Miss Devonport. It happened to be one of the days when he knew her very well indeed. Sometimes, she was saying, I feel as if I must speak to somebody. You know, where you will always find a very willing listener, he said, with the kind of fatherly flouriness that he felt set well upon him. I didn't mean you, she said, to some girl of my own age, I meant. Oh, said Peter. Well, that's a very natural feeling I'm sure I can quite understand it. Then you wouldn't mind? You wouldn't be angry if I did? She said, looking up at him with her great childishly serious eyes. Might be a child, said Peter, getting more fatherly every moment. How could I possibly object to your speaking to any lady on board if you want to? He would have liked to make one or two exceptions, perhaps. But he thought he had better not. I'm so glad, she said, because I did. This very morning. I did so once someone to advise me, to tell me what a girl ought to do, what she would do herself in my place. Ah, said Peter, sympathetically. It is a difficult position for you, no doubt. And for you too, she said quickly. Remember that. And for me too, of course, said Peter, ascending, as he always did now, from habit to anything he did not understand at the moment. My position might be described as one of, erm, difficulty, certainly. And so you asked of eyes about yours, eh? I couldn't very well help myself, she said. There was a girl, a little older than I am, perhaps, sitting next to me on deck, and she mentioned your name. And somehow I hardly know how it came about, but she seemed so kind and so interested in it all, that I believe I told her everything. You aren't angry with me, are you, Peter? She'd been making a confidant of Miss Tyrell. It was awkward, extremely awkward, and annoying, if, as he began to fear, her confidances were of a tender character. I—I'm not exactly angry, he said, but I do think you might be more careful whom you speak to. What did you tell her? All, she said, with the same little quiver in her underlip he had noticed before. That is no answer, said Peter. It certainly was none for him. Tell me what you said. I—I told her about you, and about me, and—and about him. Oh, said Peter, about me, and you, and him. Well, and—and how did she take it? She didn't say very much. She turned very pale. It was rather rough at the time, and I don't think she can be a very good sailor, for before I'd even finished she got up and went below, and I haven't seen her since. But you told her about him, he persisted. And when you say him, I presume you refer to— Here he paused, expectantly. Of course, she answered, with a touch of impatience. Whom else should I be likely to refer to? It's excessively absurd, said Peter, driven to candor at last. I—I remember perfectly that you did mention all the circumstances at the time, but I've a shocking memory for names, and, just for the minute, I—I find it difficult to recall where he comes in exactly. Curious, isn't it? Curious, she said, passionately. It's abominable. It is, agreed Peter. I quite admit that I ought to know, only I don't. This is cruel, unmanly, she said, brokenly. How could you forget? How can you insult me by pretending that she could forget such a thing as that? It is odious of you to make a—a joke of it all, when you know perfectly well that— My—my dear young lady, he declared, as she left her speech unfinished. I am as far from any disposition to be jocular as ever I was in my life. Let me beg you to be a little more explicit. We seem to have gotten to a trifling misunderstanding, which, I'm sure, a little patience will easily put right. Put right, said Sophia, behind him? I was not aware, Peter, that the clock was out of order. What is the matter with it? He almost staggered back from the chimney-piece, upon which he had found himself leaning in an attitude of earnest persuasion. I—I was only thinking my love, he said, that it wanted regulating. If it does, said Sophia, you are hardly the proper person to do it, Peter. The less you meddle with it, the better I should think. Perhaps so, my dear Sophia, perhaps so, said Peter, sitting down with the utmost acidity. He had narrowly escaped exciting suspicion. It was fortunate that there was nothing compromising in the few words she had overheard, but he must not allow himself to be caught so near the clock again. He was not a little disturbed by the tenor of this last interview. It was bad enough that in some way he seemed to have seriously displeased Miss Devonport. But, besides that, he could not contemplate without uneasiness the probable effect which her confidences, whatever their exact purpose, might have upon Miss Tyrell. For hitherto he had seen no necessity to mention to one young lady that he was even distantly acquainted with the other. As he never, by any chance, drew them both together, there seemed no object in volunteering such information. But this only made him more apprehensive of a scene when his next turn with Miss Tyrell arrived. Perhaps he thought it would be wiser to keep away from the boomerang for a week or two, and give them all time to calm down a little. However, he had the moral, or rather the immoral courage, to present the check as usual at the end of the next week, with results that were even less in accordance with his anticipations than before. It came about in this way. He was comfortably seated by the fireplace opposite Sophia in a cosy, domesticated fashion, and was reading to her aloud, for he had been let off the orary that evening. The book he was reading by Sophia's particular request was Ibsen's Dull's House, and it was not the fault of the subject, which interested her deeply, but of Peter's allocation, which was poor, that, on glancing from the text, he found that she had sunk into a profound and peaceful slumber. It was a chance he had been waiting for all day. He was rather tired of Nora with her innocence and her macaroons, her tarantella and her tarotiddles, her forgery and her fancy dress, and he had the check by him in readiness, so he stole on tiptoe to the mantelpiece, slipped the paper under a clock, and was just in time to sink back into his easy care before it turned out to be one of the revolving seats in the dining saloon on the boomerang. There was a tumbler of whiskey and seltzer at the table in front of him, and he was sitting in close confabulation with his former acquaintance, Mr. Perkins, the bank manager. That's precisely what I don't know, sir, and what I'm determined to find out, were the first words he heard from the letter gentleman who looked flushed and angry, but it's a scandalous thing, isn't it? Very, said Peter, rather bored and deeply disappointed, for the manager was but an indifferent substitute for the companion he'd been counting upon. Oh, very! Have you happened to hear anything said about it yourself, inquired his friend? Not a word, said Peter, with a veracity he always endeavored to maintain on these occasions. To go and shift a statement of that kind onto my shoulders like that, it's like the fellow's confounded impudence. For the moment Peter felt a twinge, could the other be referring to anything he had said himself in the music room, but the manager was evidently not angry with him, so it must be some other fellow. Only Peter decided not to allude to the faulty working of the time checks as he had half intended to do. Perkins was not in the mood for remonstrances just then. Most impudent, I must say, he replied. By the way, he added carelessly, what was the statement exactly? Why, God bless my soul, sir! cried the manager, with unnecessary vermin. Haven't I been telling you the whole story? Didn't you just ask me who the fellow was who has brought me into this business? So I did, said Peter, and—and who was he? Your attention seems very wandering this evening. Why, I told you the old woman wouldn't give me his name. Peter's alarm returned at this allusion to an old woman. What old woman could it be but the terrible matron whom he had encountered in the music room? However, it was fortunate that she had not mentioned any names. If Perkins knew that he had put all the blame of his entanglements upon the manager's broad shoulders, he would certainly consider it an ungrateful return for what was intended as a kindness. So you said before, he remarked, some old women are so obstinate. Obstinate? That's the first sensible remark you have made for a long while, said his candid friend. I should think she was obstinate. Why, I talked myself hoarse, trying to make that old heron believe that I was as innocent as an unborn babe of any responsibility for this precious scandal, that I'd never so much as heard it breathed till she told me of it. But it wasn't any good, sir. She would have it that I was the originator. So you were, thought Peter, that we prudently were framed from saying so. She's going to kick up that use his own delight as soon as she meets her brother, and all I could get her to say was that then, and not till then, she would give me an opportunity of having it out with a cowardly villain, whoever he may be, that is there to lay all this gossip at my door. Peter did not quarrel with this arrangement of the old ladies, for he would certainly not be on board the boomerang when she arrived at Plymouth. Ah, he said, with as much interest as he could display in a subject that did not concern him. He'll find that unpleasant, I daresay. I think he will, said Mr. Perkins, emphatically. Unless he retracts his infamous calamity. I'll kick him from one end of the ship to the other. Involuntarily Peter's eyes saw his friend's boots, which, as he sat in a corner seat with his feet extended, were much in evidence. There were strong, suitable boots, stouter than those generally worn on a sea voyage, and Peter could not repress a slight shudder. From one end of the ship to the other, he repeated, that that's rather a long way. Quite long enough for him, though not nearly long enough for me, said the manager. I'll teach him to mix me up in these squabbles, when I find them, sir, when I find him. Here, Stuart, bring some more of these dry biscuits. You'll have some more, won't you? But Peter was not in a vein for dry biscuits at that moment, and the manager continued. By the by, you might help me in this, if you only will. I want to find out, if I can, before we reach Jib, who this fellow is. But the less I talk about the affair, the better. Oh, yes, said Peter. I—I wouldn't talk about it at all, if I were you. No, I dare say you're right. Can't be too careful with an old cat like that. Well, what I want you to do is to try and find out, quietly, you know, who this infernal fellow is. Well, I dare say I could do that, said Peter. No one would think of mild, innocent-looking little chap like you, at any particular motive for asking. You might ask some other man in the smoking-room, and pick up some clue or other. So I might, said Peter. Good idea. Or, I'll tell you what, you might pump the old lady from here. I don't think I quite care about pumping the old lady, said Peter. But anything else I'll do with pleasure. Thanks, said the manager. That's a good fellow. I knew I could depend upon you. You can, replied Peter. Though I fancy, he added, soothingly. Indeed, I am sure you will find that the old woman has made a good deal out of nothing at all. What old woman, Peter, asked Sophia, with drowsy asperity. Not Mrs. Linden, surely. Mrs. Linden? Was that the name of the old she-dragon of the music-room? Why, of course not. He was in his armchair by his own fire, reading ipson to his wife. I don't know, indeed, my love. It may be, Mrs. Linden, he answered cautiously. Nonsense, said Sophia crossly. She's not meant to be old in the play, and who says the old woman has made a good deal out of nothing? Helmer, or Dr. Rank, or Crocstad, or who? You do read so badly. It's quite impossible to make out. No one says it, my dear Sophia. At least, it's not in my edition of the text. You—you must have imagined it, I think. I certainly thought I heard you read it out, she replied. But your voice is so monotonous, that it's just possible I dropped off for a minute or two. I dropped off myself about the same time, he confessed hypocritically. You wouldn't drop off or allow me to drop off either, Peter, such Sophia, who is now thoroughly awake again, if you felt a more intelligent interest in the tremendous problem ipson has set in his play. I don't believe you're realizing at least what the lesson is that he means to teach. Now do you, Peter? Well, I'm not sure that I do all together, my love, he admitted. I thought as much. What ipson insists upon is the absolute necessity of oneness between man and wife, Peter. They must belong to each other, complete each other. They must be twin souls. Are you a twin soul, Peter? Upon my word, my dear, I can't say, he replied, in some proplexity. In the present very divided state of his sympathies, he could not help thinking that his soul was more like a triplet. But think, persists Sophia, earnestly, have you shared all your past with me? Is there nothing you've kept back? No feelings, no experiences, which you confine to your own bosom. When you left me to take that voyage, you promised that nothing should induce you to be more than civil to any woman, however young and attractive, with whom fate might bring you in contact. I want you to tell me, Peter, whether, when you were returning home on board the boomerang, you kept that promise or not? Fortunately for him, she put her question in a form which made it easy to give a satisfactory and a truthful answer. When I was returning home on board the boomerang, you said, I did not, to the best of my recollection and belief, exchange two words with any female whatever, attractive or otherwise, until, he added, with a timely recollection that she had come on board at Gibraltar, until I met you. You pain me with these suspicions, Sophia, you do indeed. I believe you, Peter, she said, moved by his sincerity, which, paradoxical as it may sound, was quite real, for his intentions had been so excellent throughout that he felt injured by her doubts. You have never told me a falsehood yet, but for some time I've been tormented by a fancy that you were concealing something from me. I can hardly say what gave me such an impression. A glance, a tone, trifles which, I'm glad to think now, had not the importance I invested them with. Ah, Peter, never treat me as Helmar did Nora, never shut me out from the serious side of your life and think to make amends by calling me your little lark or your squirrel. You must not look upon me as a mere doll. My dear Sophia, he exclaimed, I should never think of addressing you as either a squirrel or a lark, and anyone less like a doll in every respect I never met. I hope you will always think so, Peter, she said, for I tell you frankly that if I once discovered that you had ceased to trust me, that you lived in a world apart into which I was not admitted, that very moment, Peter, I should act just as Nora did. I should leave you, for our marriage would have ceased to be one in any true sense of the word. The mere idea of being abandoned by Sophia made him shiver. What a risky had been running after all. Was it worthwhile to peril his domestic happiness for the sake of a few more conversations with two young ladies whose remarks were mostly enigmatic, and for whom he was conscious in his heart of hearts of not carrying two straws? Sophia, he said plaintively, don't talk of leaving me. What should I do without you? Who would teach me astronomy and things? You know I don't care for anybody but you. Why will you dwell on such unpleasant subjects? I was wrong, Peter, she confessed. Indeed, I doubt you no longer. It was all my morbid imagination that led me to do you such injustice. Forgive me, and let us say no more about it. I do forgive you, was his generous reply to this appeal, which, coming from Sophia, was a very handsome apology, and we will say no more about it. And upon the whole, Peter thought he had got out of a particularly tight place with more credit than he had any reason to expect. A conclusion in which the reader, however much he or she may disapprove of his conduct on moral grounds, will probably be inclined to agree with him. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Anosimum. It would be more satisfactory to unorth his feelings, especially if he is aware that he will be held accountable by an indignant public for the slightest deviation on his hero's part from the narrow path of ideal rectitude. It would be more satisfactory to be able to record that this latest warning had a permanent effect upon Peter Tormelin's rather shifty disposition. But an author, even of a modest performance such as this, cannot but feel himself in a position of grave responsibility. He must relate such facts as he has been able to collect, without suppression on the one side or distortion on the other. It is a duty he cannot and dare not evade under penalty of forfeiting the confidence of his readers. Peter Tormelin did draw more time checks. He did go back to the boomerang, and it would be useless to assert the contrary. We may be able to rehabilitate him to some extent before this story concludes. At present we can only follow his career with pain and disapproval. Some allowances must be made for the peculiar nature of the case. To a person of Peter's natural inclination to the study of psychology, there was a strong fascination in watching the gradual unfolding and revelation of two characters so opposite and so interesting as those of Miss Tyrell and Miss Devonport. That was the point of view he took himself, and it is difficult to say that such a plea is wholly without plausibility. Then, too, he was intensely curious to know how it would all end, and he might have certain that in the very next quarter of an hour he drew, there was absolutely no telling. As for Sophia's threat, that soon lost all terrors for him. She would abandon him, no doubt, if she ever knew, but who was going to tell her, and how could she possibly discover the truth unaided, especially now that her awakening suspicions had been lulled. His secret was perfectly safe, and he could unravel the tangled threat of the history of his remaining extra hours on board the boomerang without any other hindrance than that of his own scruples, which practically amounted to no hindrance at all. So Peter continued to be the slave of his clock and his checkbook, from the counter-foils of which he was disagreeably surprised to discover that he had drawn more frequently, and in consequence had an even smaller balance left to his credit than he had supposed. However, he consoled himself by concluding that one or two checks had probably been mislead and were still unpresented, while he was entitled to some additional time in respect of compound interest, so that he need not stint himself at present. Fifteen minutes a week was not an extravagant allowance, and sooner or later, even with the utmost economy, a day would come when his balance would be exhausted and his checks returned from the clock marked no effects referred to draw, or some equivalent intimation. But that day was still distant, and in the meantime he went on drawing with a light heart. It was a Saturday evening, the day on which Peter generally presented his weekly check. But, although it was nearly half-past ten, he had had no opportunity of doing so as yet. He was in a drawing-room, and Sophia was reading aloud to him this time an article on bimetalism from one of the reviews, for she had been an ardent bimetalist from early girlhood, and she naturally wished to win Peter from his loudest seeing apathy on so momentous a subject. He listened with surface resignation, although inwardly he was in a fever of impatience to get back upon the boomerang, where Miss Devonport had been more interesting than usual on his last visit. But he could hardly rise and slip a check under a clock before Sophia's very eyes, without inventing some decent pretext for such an action, and bimetalism had reduced him to a mental condition which was no longer fertile in expedience. Suddenly Sophia stopped reading and remarked, If I remember right, Professor Dips has stated the argument more correctly in his little book on currency. It would be interesting to compare the two. I'll get it. As Professor Dips's work was apparently on a shelf in the study, Sophia took the lamp into the further room. Now's my time, thought Peter, as he brought out the check from his waistcoat pocket. I mayn't get such another chance this evening. Even if Sophia could lay her hand on the volume at once, he would have had his quarter of an hour, and be comfortably back long before she could pass the arch which separated the two rooms. For, as we've seen, this instantaneous action was one of the chief recommendations of the time checks. So he cashed his check, and was at once transported to the secluded passage between the deck-cabins, the identical place where he had first conversed with Miss Devonport. He was on the same steamer-chair, too, and she was at his side. The wind carried the faint strains of a set of lances to them, from all of which circumstances he drew the inference that he was going to be favoured with a sequel to the conversation that had been so incongruously broken in upon by Sophia's question respecting the comparative merits of bottle-checks in the Tottenham Court Road warehouse. This was so far satisfactory, indicating as it did that he was at last, after so much trying back, to make some real progress. What I want to know first, Miss Devonport was saying, is whether you are capable of facing danger for my sake? I thought, he remonstrated mildly, that had already given proof of that. The danger you faced then threatened only me, but supposing you had to meet a danger to yourself, could you be firm and cool? Much will depend on that. I—I think, he answered frankly, that perhaps you had better not count upon me. I have never been a man to court danger. It might find me equal to it if it came, or it might not. He did not mean to give it the opportunity. Then we are lost, that is all, she said, with gloomy conviction. Lost, both of us. Peter certainly intended to be lost if the moment of trial ever arrived. Even now he was resolving, for about the twentieth time, that this, positively, should be his very last check, for he by no means liked the manner in which the situation seemed to be developing. But seeing that the danger, whatever it might be, was still far enough of, he thought very sensibly, that it would be a pity to cloud this last interview by any confession of personanimity. Knowing that it would return no more, he could surely afford to treat with contempt any consequences his imprudence might have entailed. So he laughed, as he said, You mustn't conclude that I'm a coward because I don't care to boast. On the contrary, I believe I'm not exactly deficient in physical courage. You are not, she cried, relieved. Then, then you would not be afraid to face a desperate man? Not a dozen desperate men, if it comes to that, said Peter, supported by the certainty, that it would not come to so much as half a desperate man. Then I can tell you now what I have scarcely dared to think of before. Peter, you'll have to reckon with Alfred. Well, I'm not much alarmed at anything Alfred may do, said Peter, wondering who the Jews Alfred was. He will come on bold. He will demand an explanation. He will insist on seeing you, she cried. Let him, said Peter. You are brave, braver even than I thought. But, ah, Peter, you don't know what Alfred is. Peter did not even know who Alfred was, but he was unmoved. You leave Alfred to me, he said confidently. I'll settle him. But I must tell you all. I let you to believe that Alfred would raise no objections, that he would quietly accept facts which it is useless to contend against. He will do nothing of the sort. He is a man of violent passions, fears and relentless when wronged. In the first burst of fury at meeting you, when he comes on board, he is capable of some terrible vengeance with nothing but perfect coolness on your part. Perhaps not even that will be able to avert. And I, I have brought this upon you. Don't cry, said Peter. You see, I'm perfectly calm. I don't mind it. If Alfred considers himself wronged by me, though what I have ever done to give him any reason for avenging himself by personal violence, I must say I can't conceive. She stopped him. Ah, you've given him course enough, she cried. What is the use of taking that tone to me? I want to see Alfred's point of view, that's all, said Peter. What does he complain of? What does he complain of? You ask me that when— Peter, she broke off, suddenly. There is somebody around the corner, listening to us. A woman, I'm sure of it. I heard the rustle of a dress. Go and see if there's not. Go and see, and find himself face to face with Miss Tarvel, who might faint or go into hysterics. Peter knew better than that. It's merely your fancy, said soothingly. Who can be there? They're all at the other end of the ship dancing. Go on telling me about Alfred. I don't yet understand how I've managed to offend him. Are you really so dull, she said, with a slight touch of temper, that you can't see that the man who thought he was going to meet the woman he was engaged to, and finds she has learned to care for—for somebody else is likely, even if he was the mildest man in the world, which Alfred is far from being, to betray some annoyance. No, I see that, said Peter. But—but he can't blame me. I couldn't help it. He said this, although her last speech had opened his eyes considerably. He knew now who Alfred was, and also that, in some moment of madness, which was in one of the quarters of an hour he had not yet drawn, he must have placed himself in the position of Alfred's rival. What was he to do? He could not, without brutality, tell this poor girl that he had not the smallest intention of depriving Alfred of her affections. It was better and easier, too, to humour her for the short time that remained. Alfred will not take that as an excuse, she said. It is true we could neither of us help what has happened, but that will not alter the fact that he is quite capable of shooting us both the instant he comes on deck. Alfred is like that. Well, said Peter, unable to abstain from a little more of such very cheap heroism, I do not fear death with you. Say that once more, she said, which Peter very obligingly did. Oh, Peter, how I admire you now, how little I knew you were capable of going so calmly to your doom. You give me courage. I feel that I, too, can face death. Only not that death. It is so hard to be shot. It would be unpleasant, said Peter, pleasantly, but soon over. No, she said, I couldn't bear it. I can see him pointing his revolver, for he always carries one, even at a picnic. First at your head, then mine. No, Peter, since we must die, I prefer at least to do so without bloodshed. So do I, he agreed, very much. You do, she cried. Then, oh, Peter, why should we wait any longer for a fate that is inevitable? Let us do it now, together. Do what, said Peter? Slip over the side together. It would be quite easy. No one will see us. Let us plunge arm in arm into the merciful sea. A little struggle, a moment's battle for breath. Then all will be over. Yes, I suppose it would be over then, he said, but we should have to swallow such a lot of salt water first. He reflected that, even if he emerged from the agonies of drowning, to find himself bimethalizing with Sophia, the experience would be nonetheless unpleasant while it lasted. There really must be some limit to his complacence, and he said it at suicide. No, he said. I've always held that to escape a difficulty by putting an end to one's own life is a cowardly proceeding. I am a coward, she said. But oh, Peter, be a coward with me for once. Ask me anything else, he said firmly, but not stoop to cowardice. There is really no necessity for it, you see, he added, feeling that he had better speak out plainly. I have no doubt that Alfred will listen to reason, and when he is told that, although, as is excusable enough with two natures that have much in common, we have found a mutual pleasure in each other's society, there has been nothing on either side inconsistent with the most ordinary friendship when he hears that. Where are you going? For she was rising from her chair. Where am I going? she replied with an unsteady laugh. Why, overboard, if you care to know. But you mustn't, he cried, scarcely knowing what he said. The captain wouldn't like it. There is a penalty, I'm sure, for leaving the ship while its emotion. I've seen it well noticed. There is a penalty for having believed in you, she replied bitterly, and I'm going to pay it. She broke away, and rushed out upon the deck into the starlight with Peter in pursuit. Here was a nice result of his philandering, he thought bitterly, and yet, what had he done? How could he help the consequences of follies committed in time he had not even spent yet? However, what he had to do now was to prevent Miss Devonport from leaping overboard at any cost. He would even promise to jump over with her if that would soothe her, and, of course, he could appoint some time next day, say, after breakfast, for the performance. He ran down the shadowy deck until he overtook a flying female form whose hand he seized as she crouched against the bulwarks. Miss Devonport, if you'll only just— He began, when, without warning, he found himself back upon his own hearth rug, holding Sophia firmly by the wrist. He felt confused as well he might, but he tried to pass it off. But did you find Dipp's uncurrency, my dear? He inquired with a ghastly smile as he dropped her hand. I did not, said Sophia gravely. I was otherwise engaged. Peter, what have you been doing? What have I been doing? he said. Why, it's not a minute since you went to the study to get that book. Look at the clock and see. Don't appeal to the clock, Peter. Answer my question. How have you been occupied? I've been waiting for you to finish that article on bimetalism, he had the hardy-hood to say. Dused well, written article it is, too, so clear. I don't refer to what you were doing here, said Sophia. What were you doing on board the boomerang? It—it's so long ago that I really forget, he said. I—I read Buckle on deck, and I talked to the man named Perkins. Nice fellow he was, manager of a bank out in Australia. It's useless to prevericate Peter, she said. What I want to know is, who was that girl, and why should she attempt to destroy herself? He could hardly believe his ears. Girl? he stammered. How do you know that any girl attempted anything of that sort? How do I know, Peter? said Sophia. I will tell you how I know. I was on board the boomerang, too. At this awful piece of intelligence, Peter dropped into his armchair, speechless and quaking. What would come next he could not tell, but anything seemed possible, and even probable, after that. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of Turmaline's Time Checks This is a Libber Vox recording. All Libber Vox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibberVox.org, recording by Anna Simon. Turmaline's Time Checks, by Thomas Anstigathry. Chapter 7 The Comonating Check Before I say anything else, said Sophia, who was still standing upon the hearthrog, gazing down upon the wretched Peter as he sat huddled up in his chair, you would probably like to know how I came to follow you to that ship. It is a long story, but I will tell you if you wish to hear. Peter's lips moved without producing any articulate sounds, and Sophia proceeded. Some weeks ago, she said, one afternoon when you had gone out for a walk, I found what seemed to be a loose check on the carpet. I knew how carelessly you'd leave things about, and I picked it up, and found that, though it was like a check in other respects, it was rather curiously worded. I could not understand it at all, but it seemed to have something to do with the ship you came home from Australia in. So, intending to ask you for an explanation when you came in, I thought in the meantime I would put it in some safe place, where I should be sure to see it, and I put it behind the clock, and then—oh, Peter. Peter understood. The checks were all payable to self or bear. Sophia had innocently presented one, and it had been paid. If you had only taken order checks, this would not have happened, but it was too late now. He continued to imitate the tactics of that eminent strategist, Brer Rabbit. In other words, he lay low and said nothing, while Sophia continued. Then, without an least knowing how I came there, I found I was on a big steamer, and as I walked along, perfectly bewildered, I saw the name Boomerang painted on some fire-pockets, and of course I knew then that that was your ship. I fancied that perhaps in some way you might be on board, too, and would explain how this had happened to me. At all events I decided to find out if you were. And, seeing a girl reading on deck, I took a chair near her, and after a few introductory remarks, I mentioned your name. The effect upon her was such as to convince me that she felt more than an ordinary interest in you. By degrees I drew from her the whole story of her relations with you. She even asked me, me, for advice. So Miss Devonpool's confidant had not been Miss Tyrell after all, but Sophia, if he'd only known that before. I could not speak to her, continued Sophia. I felt stifled, stupefied by what I'd heard. I could bear no more, and so I rose and left her, and walked down some stairs, and somehow found myself back in our own room again. I was more bewildered than ever. I looked for the check, but there was nothing, and soon I was forced to believe that the whole thing was imaginary. Still, I was not wholly satisfied. You may remember how I questioned you one evening, when you were reading the doll's house to me. Well, your answers quite reassured me for the time. I told myself that my suspicions were too wildly improbable not to have been a delusion. I was even afraid that my brain must be slightly affected, for I had always prided myself upon having my imagination and their thorough control. That by degrees, Peter, by degrees I began to doubt again whether it was really nothing but fancy on my part. I noticed that your manner was suspiciously odd at times. I discovered that there was one drawer in your secretary that you kept carefully locked. I caught your eye wondering to what the clock from time to time. What I suspected I hardly know, but I felt certain that I should find the explanation of that mystery in a locked drawer. I tried key after key until I found one that fitted. Oh, I am not at all ashamed of it. Had I not a right to know? There were no letters, nothing but a checkbook, but that checkbook proved to me that, after all, I had imagined nothing. All the checks were the same as the one I found on the carpet. I tore one out and kept it by me, and from that time I watched you closely. I saw how restless and impatient you were this evening, and I was certain that you were intending to use a check from that book. You were bent on getting back to the boomerang, and I was equally determined that, if I could help it, you should not go alone. Only, I could not be quite sure how you managed to get there, and at last I hid upon a little device for finding out. There's no such person as Professor Dipps, Peter. I invented him to put you off your guard. As I passed into the other room with the lamp, I saw you, reflected in the mirror over the study's chimney-piece, rise, and go to the drawing-room mantel-piece. You had a slip of paper in your hand. My check, of course. I had the check I tore out, hidden in the waistband of my dress. And so, as soon as I saw you slip your check behind the clock in the drawing-room, I put my check behind the one in the study. I was on the deck at once, and it was dark, but I could hear your voice and another's round the corner. I held my breath and listened. What I heard, you know. Peter shrank up in his chair, utterly confounded by this last vaguery on the part of the time-checks. He certainly would not have supposed that the mere presentation, even of a bearer check by Sophia, would entitle her to the same fifteen minutes he was receiving himself. He could only account for it by the fact that the two checks were cashed simultaneously at two separate clocks. But even this explanation was not wholly satisfactory. He found his voice at last. Well, he said, now that you know all, what are you going to do about it, Sophia? I would rather know the worst. I will tell you that in good time, she replied. But first of all, I want you to tell me exactly how you came to have these checks, and what use you made of them on previous occasions. So, slightly reassured by a manner which was composed, Peter gave her a plain, unvarnished account of the way in which he had been led to deposit his extra time, and the whole story of his interviews with Miss Davenport. He did not mention any others, because he felt that the affair was quite complicated enough without dragging in extraneous and irrelevant matter. I may have been imprudent, he concluded, but I do assure you, Sophia, that in all the quarters of an hour I have had it yet, I never once behaved that young lady in any capacity but that of a friend. I only went on drawing the checks because I wanted a little change of air and scene now and then. You have no idea how it picked me up. I saw in what society it set you down, Peter, was Sophia's chilling answer. You mustn't think she is always like that, he urged. It took me quite by surprise. It was a most painful position for me. I think, Sophia, your own sense of fairness will acknowledge that, considering the awkwardness of my situation, I behaved as well as could be expected. You do admit that, don't you? Sophia was silent for a minute or so before she spoke again. I must have time to think, Peter, she said. It is all so strange, so contrary, to all my experience, that I can hardly see things as yet in their proper light. But I may tell you at once that, from what I was able to observe and from all you have just told me, I am inclined to think that you are free from actual co-pability in the matter. It was quite clear that that very forward girl was the principal throughout and that you were nothing more than unwilling and most embarrassed accessory. This was so much more lenient of you than he had there to expect that Peter recovered his ordinary equanimity. That was all, you said. I am very glad you saw it, my dear. I was perfectly helpless. And then, said Sophia, I was more than pleased by your firm refusal to commit suicide. What you said was so very sound and true, Peter. I hope so, said Peter, with much complacency. Yes, I was pretty firm with her. By the way, he added, you didn't have to see whether she really did jump overboard, I suppose. I came away just at the crisis, she said. I thought you would tell me. I came away too, said Peter. It doesn't matter, of course, but still I should have rather liked to know whether she meant it or not. How can you speak of it so heartlessly, Peter? She may have been trying to frighten you. She's just the kind of girl who would, but you may have been earnest after all. You see, Sophia, said Peter, it doesn't matter whether she was or not. It isn't as if it had ever really happened. Not really happened. But I was there. I heard. I saw it. Nothing could be more real. At any rate, he said, it only happens when I use those checks, and she can't possibly carry out her rash intention until I draw another, which I promise you faithfully I will never do. If you doubt me, I will burn the book now before your eyes. With these words he went to the drawer and took out the checkbook. No, such a fear. You must not do that, Peter. There is much about this time bank that I don't pretend to understand, that I cannot account for by any known natural law. But I may not disbelieve my own eyes and ears. These events that have happened in the extra time you chose to defer till now are just as real as any other events. You have made this girl's acquaintance. You have, I don't say through any fold of your own, but still you have, caused her to transfer her affections from the man she was engaged to, and, being a creature of ill-regulated mind and no strength of character, she have resolved to put an end to her life rather than meet his just indignation. She is now on the very point of accomplishing this folly. Well, badly as she has behaved, you cannot possibly leave the wretched girl there. You must go back at once, restrain her by main force, and not leave her until you have argued her into a rational frame of mind. Peter was by no means anxious to go back at first. It's not at all necessary, he said, and besides, I don't know if you're aware of it, but with the way these checks are worked, it's ten chances to one against my hitting off the right fifty minutes. Still, he added, with an afterthought, I can try, of course, if you insist upon it. I can take my chance with another fifty minutes, but that must be the last. I'm sick and tired of this boomerang business. I am indeed. Shameful as it is to state, he had altered his mind from a certain recollection that he would not mind seeing Miss Tyrell for just once more. He had not drawn her for several weeks. No, said Sophia thoughtfully. I see your objection. Fifteen minutes is not enough, unless you could be sure of getting the successors to the last. But I have an idea, Peter. If you draw out the whole balance of your time, you can't possibly help getting the right fifty minutes somewhere or other. I think that's logical. Oh, devilish logical, muttered Peter to himself, who had reasons which he could not divulge to her for strongly disapproving of such a plan. The fact is, my dear, you said, it's rather late this evening to go away for any time. You forget, she said, that however long you are away, you will come back at exactly the same time you start. But you have some other reason, Peter. You had better tell me. Well, he owned. I might come across someone I'd rather not meet. You are thinking of the man that girls said she had been engaged to, Alfred, wasn't it? Peter had forgotten Alfred for the moment, and besides, he was not likely to turn up till the boomerang got to Plymouth, and he knew his extra hours stopped before that. Still, Alfred did very well as an excuse. Ah, he said, Alfred, you heard what she said about him, a violent character with a revolver, Sophia. But you told her you were not afraid of him. I felt so proud of you when you said it, and think you may be able to bring them together, to heal the breach between them. He's more likely to make a breach in me that won't heal, said Peter. Still, as you said yourself, it isn't as if it was all actually existing. What does it matter, even if he should shoot you? I don't see any advantage in exposing myself to any such unpleasant experiences, even if they are only temporary, he said. It is not a question of advantage, Peter, rejoined Sophia. It is a simple duty, and I am surprised that you don't see it as such. Whatever the consequences of your conduct may be, you cannot evade them like this. You have chosen to begin, and you must go on. I am quite clear about that. Let me see. Here she took the checkbook, and made some rapid calculations from the counter-files. Yes, you have two hours and three quarters at least, still standing to your credit, and then there's compound interest. I will tear out all these small checks and burn them. Which she did, as she spoke. And now, Peter, sit down and fill up one of the blank ones at the end for the whole amount. Do you know, Sophia, said Peter? It occurs to me that this is just one of those matters which can only be satisfactorily arranged by, um, a woman's tact. Suppose I make the check payable to you now, huh? You mean that you want me to go instead of you? she asked. Well, Sir Peter, if it wouldn't be bothering you, my dear, I think perhaps it would be. Don't say another word, she interrupted, or I shall begin to despise you, Peter. If I thought you meant it seriously, I would go upstairs, put on my bonnet, and go back to Mama for ever. I could not bear to be the wife of a coward. Oh, I'll go, Sir Peter, in much alarm. I said what I did out of consideration, not cowardice, but wouldn't tomorrow do just as well, Sophia? It is late to turn out. Tomorrow will not do as well, she said. Fill up that check tonight, or you will lose me forever. There, Sir Peter, as he scrolled off the check, are you satisfied now, Sophia? I shall be when I see you present it. Uh, yes, he said. Oh, I mean to present it, presently. I think I'll take a small glass of brandy before I go, my dear, to keep the cold out. As she will certainly be in a summer, if not tropical temperature, the next moment, she said, I should advise you to take nothing of the kind. I say, he suggested. Suppose I find she has jumped overboard. What shall I do then? Do? Can you possibly ask? You will jump after her, of course. It's easy to say, of course, he said, but I never could swim more than twenty strokes. Swim those twenty then, and let come what will. You'll be back all the sooner. But don't stand there talking about it, Peter. Go! I am going, he said meekly. You'll sit up for me, Sophia, if I'm late, won't you? Don't be absurd, she said. You know perfectly well that, as I said before, you won't be away a second. It won't be a second for you, he said, but it will be several hours for me, and goodness only knows what I may have to go through in that time. However, he added, with an attempt to be cheerful. It may all pass off quite pleasantly. Don't you think it may, Sophia? How can I tell? You will only find out by going. I'm going, my dear. I'm going at once. You'll give me just one kiss before I start, won't you? I will give you no kiss till you come back, and I hear what you've done, said Sophia. Very well, he retorted. You may be sorry you refused when it's too late. I may never come back at all for anything I can tell. And, little as he knew it, he spoke with an almost prophetic anticipation of what was to come. Never again was he destined to stand on that hearth rug. But he dared not linger longer, as he could see from her expression, that she would suffer no further trifling, and he slipped his last check under the clock, with consequences that must be reserved for the next chapter. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of Turmaline's Time-Checks This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Peter found himself below this time in the broad passage furnished with seats and tables for writing, and 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 Tyrell. Perhaps he had never been so glad to see her before. She was a friend, a dear friend. She, at least, would sympathize with him, would understand that it was not his fault if he had been too late to a verticatastrophe. 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 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 no one will say it was my fault, will they? 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? The 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 Tyrell, do you think that it is really all over? 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 or upset so desirable an arrangement. Why, why didn't you tell me all this before, she inquired. 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 Tyrell 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 is too quixotic. Don't you understand even yet? No, said Peter blankly. I am afraid I don't. Then, if you really are so diffident, 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 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 pretenses. 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 should only have courage and wait, we should be happy even yet? And I did wait. For what, I ask you, Peter Turmaline, 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 Tyrell, who thrust his arm through Peters 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 certain interest in you, ever since that affair of the monkey, said Peter. I am very glad to hear it, Sir William, but I ought to tell you that I am afraid Ms. Tyrell 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 fiancé 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 may 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 honor. 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 fulfill your contract and renounce all hope so far as she is concerned. Peter felt a little easier. 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 honorably 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, Pinscher, is it? We'll probably be on board the ship before many minutes. I see the boats are putting out from the harbor 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 that meeting 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, considerably. Peter took them, and the next moment the binocular fell from his nervous 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 toward 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 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, Turmaline was down on the saloon deck, seeking a quiet spot wherein to collect his thoughts. Before he could find a 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. Turmaline, she said. I really can't stop now, stammered Peter. 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 dare say, madame, said Peter, I dare say. 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 such 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 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 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 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 horse whip you in the presence of the other passengers. That is all, sir. Thank you, it is 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 porthole. What, the old lady's brother, he replied. He has no sister who is an old lady. I mean Alfred. Alfred? He almost yelled. Alfred here? Of course he is here. Is not his battalion stationed 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 never once regarded you in any other light than that of a friend. And you suppose that, knowing how much 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 forgot 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 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 toward 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 refused 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 birth. 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. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of Turmaline's Time Checks This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Turmaline's Time Checks by Thomas Anstey Guthrie Chapter 9 Compound Interest 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 Ollie Ben's 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, hinted 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 dare say 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-gryphon 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 that 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 rumor from my lips. And besides, sir, we shall have an opportunity at last of seeing the unutterable scamp who has had the bare-faced 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 his slipping away in the confusion, and so, unfastening the cabin door, the manager caught the unresisting terminal in 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 Termilan by the Davids, 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 horse whip. 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 Tyrell'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 checks 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 felt 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 Pinsney, 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 Tyrell. 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 Tyrell, 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 checks must recognize accomplished facts. He followed her across the ship, turning down the very passage in which he had sat through more than one check 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 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 Tyrell, pray don't go away, what I have to say concerns you, too. No, don't go away, Miss Tyrell, 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 Tyrell, Miss Pinsney, Miss Pinsney has something to tell you which will make my position thoroughly clear. I have only to say, she said, that your honorable 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 you 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 rival, I confess that I could expect no other result. So, dear Miss Tyrell, 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 Pinsney, 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 toward 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 won't, returned Peter, flurriedly, but I'm rather busy just now. A little later 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 mustache, and haggard eyes, in which a red fire smoldered, 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 gentleman, the word cost him a manifest struggle to pronounce, a gentleman on board of the name of Turmalin? 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 Tyrell, who was clinging affectionately to Peter's arm, this is Mr. Turmalin. You can speak to him now, here, if you choose. We have no secrets from one another, have we, Peter? I have lately learned, said the gloomy man, that a certain Mr. Turmalin has stolen from me the affection of one who was all heaven and earth to me. Then it must be another Mr. Turmalin, said Miss Tyrell, 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 scowled, distinctly relaxed, and Peter felt that, after all, this unfortunate misunderstanding on Miss Tyrell'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 honor 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 center of the group. It is not true, she cried. Alfred, you must not believe him. Not true, exclaimed Alfred, Sophia, Miss Tyrell, 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 check, tell such a downright fib as this, past 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 Tyrell 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 post-script 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 checks, 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 toward both of these young ladies, both you understand, have been restricted to a respectful 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 am a married man. Married, shrieked Miss Davenport, cowering back. Married, exclaimed Miss Tyrell, as she hid her face upon her father's shoulder. Married, shouted the judge. By heaven, 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 has 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 the 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 Maude 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 Tyrell, 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. Terrible in a start of a few seconds. Let him have a run before you fire. All this time Alfred was still fumbling for and executing the obstinate weapon. I declined 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 a 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, flew 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 his 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, unturning the corner, the manager had already occupied the passage, Peter turned again and doubled back across the ship, making for the folksal. 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 ratlands at every step, and all the way he had a dismal conviction that as yet he had not nearly exhausted the check 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 shivvied 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 have fur to trouble you to go down again, please.' Captain strict orders, sir. Passengers ain't allowed to amuse themselves 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 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, I, dear, I suppose, come to that,' he said slowly. "'But it's too late to think of that now. Look below, sir.' Peter glanced down between his feet and saw two swarthy laskers 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 shaking her sunshade in angry denunciation, while her brother flourished his horse whip, 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 ratlands, as helpless a target as any innocent bottle in a shooting gallery, and the laskers were getting nearer and nearer. He could see their billious 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, teary cordage relaxed, and shutting his eyes, he fell down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end? Would he never arrive? At last the shock was over, and he feebly opened his eyes once more to find that he was undoubtedly on the deck. And yes, the bank manager was standing over him with a kind of triumphant grin. Mercy, Peter murmured faintly. You surely wouldn't kick a man when he's down. My dear sir! protested the manager. Why should I wish to kick you in any position? He must be fatally injured, if even the manager had relented. Is—is Alfred there? asked Tormelin anxiously. Keep him away, if you can. Certainly, said Mr. Perkins. Who is Alfred? Why, the man with the revolver. I thought you knew. Come, come, said the manager. There's no man of that kind here, I assure you. Pull yourself together, sir. You're on board the boomerang now. I know, said Peter dolefully. I know I am. He shut his eyes, resignedly. He was about to receive some other portion of his time balance. If he could only hope that no fresh complications would arise, would he meet Miss Tyrell or Miss Davenport next, he wondered, and how would they behave? Haven't you had sleep enough yet? said the manager. You're not more than half awake even now. Sleep exclaimed Tormelin, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Why, you don't mean to tell me I've been dreaming all this time? I don't know about dreaming, but I can answer for your snoring. Why, you almost drowned the ship's band. I knew what would happen when you would have two helpings of curry at breakfast. Worst thing to take in the world, especially if you don't walk it off. Why, you've been a joke of the whole ship for the last half hour. I wish you could have seen yourself with your head hanging over the arm of your chair and your mouth wide open. I thought at last it was only kind to wake you up. Those two young ladies over there have been in fits of laughter. Peter picked up Buckle, which was lying face downward on the deck. His own face was very red, possibly from stooping, as he inquired. Uh, which two young ladies? Can't tell you their names, but those two uncommonly nice-looking girls. One in white and navy blue, and the darker one in pink. Dear me, I thought they would have died. Even now they seem to have the greatest difficulty in controlling their countenances, for happening just then to look round and catch Peter's glance of confused and still somnolent suspicion. They buried their faces in their handkerchiefs once more, in agonies of suppressed mirth. And these were the two whom his dreaming fancies had pictured as tenderly, desperately, madly devoted to him. The reality was decidedly disenchanting. There were very ordinary girls he saw after all. Well, said Mr. Perkins, it's not far off Tiffin time now, so you see you managed to get through your extra time after all. Yes, said Peter, with a little natural embarrassment. But I think, do you know that, on reflection, I won't deposit the extra hours after all, if you will kindly take back the checkbook, he added, feeling in his pockets, and to give me the form I signed, we will consider the arrangement cancelled, eh? It's my belief, said the manager, that your head isn't quite clear yet, for hang me if I know what you're all talking about—deposit, checkbook, form? What's it all about? Peter coloured more furiously than before. It was the curry, he said. I wasn't quite sure whether—but it's really too absurd to explain. I am wide awake now at all events. He was awake now, and knew that no time bargain of this monstrous kind had ever been actually affected. And all the wild events which seem to have taken whole months to accomplish themselves were the work of a single hour's indigestion. He was still a bachelor, still engaged to sapphire. He had still to make the acquaintance of Miss Tyrell and Miss Davenport, and endure the ordeal of remaining for some weeks to come to say nothing of the extra hours, exposed to the peril of their fascinations. But whatever happened now, it could not be said, at least, that he had not received abundant warning of the consequences which might ensue from any yielding, however blameless or defensible, on his part. And Peter Tormelin resolved, that henceforth Buckle should monopolise his attention. There are always a few inquiring persons who, at the conclusion of any story, insist upon being told what happened after that. And if such a question is ever justified, it is so in the case of a narrative that, as in the present instance, ends almost at the precise moment at which it began. So it is not impossible that some readers may be sufficiently interested to wish to know the particular effect produced upon Peter Tormelin's subsequent conduct by a vision more than usually complicated and connected. Did he receive it, for example, as a solemnly prophetic warning, and foreswear all female society while on the boomerang? Or was he rather prompted to prove its fallibility by actual experience? As to the motives which guided him, we are unable to speak with confidence, and they must be left to be accounted for by the reader's knowledge of human nature in general, and Peter's, so far as it has been self-revealed by his unconscious imagination in these pages, in particular. But the author is, in a position to state with certainty, that when Sophia and her mother met the ship, as they duly did at Gibraltar, nothing on Peter's part gave them the slightest ground for suspecting that he was on terms of even the most distant acquaintance ship was either Miss Tyrell or Miss Davenport, and that the fact of his being far advanced in the third volume of Buckle's history of civilization seemed to guarantee that he had employed his spare time on board the vessel both wisely and well. Nor did he get into any difficulties by circulating gossip concerning any matron from Melbourne, owing to the circumstance that there was no lady passenger who at all answered the description. She, like much else in his experiences, was purely a creation of the curry. Lastly, it may be added that Peter is now married to his Sophia, and is far happier than even he could have expected. She tempers her intellectuality out of consideration for his mental barrenness, and as yet he has never found her society in the least oppressive, nor has his errant fancy wandered back in any perfidious sense to the time he spent when freed from her supervision on board the boomerang. End of The Epilogue and End of Tormelin's Time-Checks by Thomas Anstey Guthrie