"Eh?" Anthony looked at him.
"They reach miles out to sea, and shipmen avoid them as they would death," said Tom Horn.
"Oh!" said Anthony, understanding, "you mean at the place Christopher spoke of? Yes, I've heard the coast in that region is counted dangerous."
They fell silent and walked on; as they passed under the dim street-lamps, Tom Horn would again look at Anthony with some of the old, strange speculation in his eyes. Once, when the young man caught his glance, he said:
"You are not strong; your life's circle is too narrow. But," and he nodded assuringly, "it will grow wider; and then we shall see."
Anthony made his preparations quietly; none knew he was leaving the city except those already acquainted with his purpose. He would have told Captain Weir, but when he asked for him at the counting-house Tom Horn shook his head.
"He has been gone these four days," said the clerk. "And he left no word."
"Ah, well, it's no matter." Anthony stood, cutting at his boot-leg with a riding-whip, and gazing about the silent counting-room. He thought of what this house once had been, and of what it now had come to; he thought of Charles as he had seen him that morning, smiling, childlike, engaged in meaningless pastimes. His breath grew tight in his chest, and he turned, about to go.
"The wagon, I suppose," said Tom Horn, "is already beyond the river, laden with your goods?"
"Yes," said Anthony, "and will start across the Jerseys as soon as I reach it. Good-by."