"I would never hold you to a union from which all love on your side had fled; do not think so, Peter. And now that I see my--my rival, I confess that I could expect no other result. So, dear Miss Tyrrell, I resign him to you freely--yes, cheerfully--for, by your womanly self-abnegation you have proved yourself the worthier. Take her, Peter; you have my full consent!" "My dear young lady," said the Judge, deeply affected, "this is most noble of you! Allow me to shake you by the hand." "I can't thank you, dear, _dear_ Miss Pinceney!" sobbed his daughter. "Peter, tell her for me how we shall both bless and love her all our lives for this!" Peter's brain reeled. Was _this_ Sophia's notion of getting him out of a difficulty? As he gazed distractedly around, his eyes became fixed and glazed with a new terror. A stalwart stranger, with a bushy red beard, was coming towards him, with a stout riding-whip in his right hand. By his side walked the Manager, from whose face all vestige of friendliness had vanished. "As soon as you have quite finished your conversation with these ladies," said the Manager, with iron politeness, "this gentleman would be glad of a few moments with you; after which I shall request your attention to a little personal affair of my own. Don't let us _hurry_ you, you know!" "I--I won't," returned Peter, flurriedly; "but I'm rather busy just now: a little later, I--I shall be delighted." As he stood there, he was aware that they had withdrawn to a bench some distance away, where they conferred with the elderly lady from Melbourne. He could feel their angry glare upon him, and it contributed to rob him of the little self-possession he had left. "Sophia," he faltered piteously, "I say, this is too bad--it is, really! You _can't_ mean to leave me in such a hole as this--do let's get home at once!" Before she could make any reply to an appeal which seemed to astonish her considerably, a thin, bilious-looking man, with a face twitching with nervous excitement, a heavy black moustache, and haggard eyes, in which a red fire smouldered, appeared at the gangway and joined the group. "I beg your pardon," he said, lifting his hat; "forgive me if I interrupt you, but my business is urgent--most urgent! Perhaps you could kindly inform me if there is a--a gentleman" (the word cost him a manifest struggle to pronounce)--"a gentleman on board of the name of Tourmalin? I have a little matter of business" (here his right hand stole to his breast-pocket) "to transact with him," he explained, with a sinister smile that caused Peter to give suddenly at the knees. "It's that infernal Alfred!" he thought. "Now I _am_ done for!" "Why," said Miss Tyrrell, who was clinging affectionately to Peter's arm, "_this_ is Mr. Tourmalin! You can speak to him now--here, if you choose. We have no secrets from one another--have we, Peter?"