A dozen possibilities might have shattered any link of it.

The password might be wrong, or I might never get the length of those who knew it.

The men in the cave might butcher me out of hand, or Laputa might think my behaviour a sufficient warrant for the breach of the solemnest vow.

Colin might never get to Blaauwildebeestefontein, Laputa might change his route of march, or Arcoll's men might fail to hold the Drift.

Indeed, the other day at Portincross I was so overcome by the recollection of the perils I had dared and God's goodness towards me that I built a new hall for the parish kirk as a token of gratitude.
Fortunately for mankind the brain in a life of action turns more to the matter in hand than to conjuring up the chances of the future.
Certainly it was in no discomfort of mind that I swung along the moonlit path to the north.