Randolph almost smiled as he recalled Monica's remark to him about the clockwork regularity of the Admiral's household, and then he was surprised at the anxiety tugging at his heart. Why should Sidney's unpunctuality be of such moment to him? He almost ran down to the boathouse. There was no boat in it, nor was it moored to its anchorage. The tide was out, and the low sandbanks across the river were plainly discernible.
"She's stuck on the mud somewhere," was his thought, and he shouted it out to the Major, who was following him down the garden.
He shook his head.
"Don't believe it! She has more gumption than that. She knows the river better than we do."
Randolph lost no time. He pulled out another boat close by—a boat built for the sea, and not for the river. He threw off his overcoat and dress-coat; turning up his white shirt sleeves, he shoved off and cautiously rowed in the shallow current down towards the sea.
The Major shouted after him: "I'll go down to the village and make inquiries there. Don't get on the mud yourself."
Randolph rowed off, and as he looked back, saw the old Admiral fussing round his horse, and evidently preparing to ride off again in search of his daughter.
"Three of us," he said, bending to his oars with a will. "I mean to come in winner."
It was getting dark, and the navigation of his boat was difficult. Progress was necessarily slow.
He wondered now if he had better have ridden along the banks and trusted to his sharp eyes to discover her whereabouts. To add to his discomfort, black clouds rolled up, and soon torrents of rain poured down almost perpendicularly.