"I think," said I, "you told me your name was Anthony—well, if you are going on, I will come with you, if I may."
"You will trust yourself—with me—in these solitary byways!"
"Of course," said I, rising, "because, in spite of everything, you are a gentleman!"
At this he turned very abruptly and strode to the latticed casement, while I, having summoned the landlord, paid the reckoning. Then, bidding the company good-day, we set forth together.
CHAPTER V
FURTHER CONCERNING THE AFORESAID GENTLEMAN, ONE ANTHONY
So we walked on together, side by side, through leafy byways and winding paths, past smiling cornfield and darkling wood; we talked of the Government, of country and town, of the Fashionable World and its most famous denizens, concerning which last my companion's knowledge seemed profound; we spoke but little of books, of which he seemed amazingly ignorant—in fine, we exchanged thoughts and reflections on any and everything except ourselves. And thus, as evening drew nigh, we came to the top of a hill. Here he stopped all at once and taking off his dilapidated hat, pointed with it up at the thing that rose above us, looming against the sunset-glory, beam, cross-bar and chain.
"Look at that!" quoth he, staring up at something hideously warped and weather-beaten and clasped round with iron bands,—an awful shape that dangled from rusting chain. "But for my light heels—I might have come to that—and yet why not—his troubles are over. So in a year—six months—who knows,—there hang I—"
"God forbid, Anthony?" cried I.
Now at this he whirled round and, clapping his two hands upon my shoulders, burst forth into vehement oaths to my deep amazement until I saw the tears in his haggard eyes.