"I—I am prepared to do that," he said.
"Well, I don't say myself that I go quite so far as she does; but strictly, no doubt, a promise is a promise, and should be kept at all hazards. You have done all that a man can honourably do to put himself right. You have written to this young lady, so I understand, informing her of the change in your sentiments, and offering, nevertheless, to redeem your promise if she insisted upon it. I think that was the general purport of your letter?"
Here was one more evil fruit of his extra time! What would Sophia think, or say, or do, if such a letter as that ever came to her knowledge? Fortunately, that at least was impossible!
"You have some grounds," the Judge went on, "for assuming that the lady has already treated the contract as non-existent—a person called Alfred, I think my daughter said?"
"No, that was a mistake," explained Peter. "Alfred is engaged to quite a different person."
"Well, in any case, it is quite possible that you may obtain your release when you meet her; and your suspense will soon be over now. Miss—er—Pincher, is it?—will probably be on board the ship before many minutes. I see the boats are putting out from the harbour already."
"What!" cried Peter, with the terrible conviction darting through his mind that Sir William spoke the bare truth.
Sophia had said something about meeting him at Gibraltar; but if she had done so during the real voyage, how could he have the meeting all over again, with this ghastly variation? If he could only remember whether she had come out, or not! It was singular, incomprehensible! But his memory was a blank on such a vital fact as this!
"Would you like to have my field-glass for a moment?" said Sir William, considerately.
Peter took it, and the next moment the binocular fell from his nerveless hands. He had seen only too clearly the familiar form of Sophia seated in the peaked stern of a small craft, which a Spanish boatman was "scissoring" through the waves towards the Boomerang.