"They'll do it," he said. "To be sure, they'll do it! The richest cargo that ever came out of the East! Well, well! That's saying a deal, for some fine ones have come from that part of the world. Oh, yes, have no fear of the twins. They will give what time is needed. So the old rat is dead! Well, well! But what matter? I can manage the sons. They'll do what I ask. They'll hold their hands until the _Rufus Stevens_ is stowed, and weighs for home, if it takes till doomsday, or the day after!" XXX The storm of wind and rain lasted through the night; straight out of the north it washed and blew sturdily, and with the deep voice of fall. By dawn the rain had abated; but the wind continued to blow shrewdly, and there was a cut to it, a keenness that hadn't been felt since the early spring. It was six o'clock when Anthony arose; he looked from his window into Sassafras Street; the way was drenched clean; the gutters were full of running rainwater; and the tang in the air caught his attention. "A little more!" said he. "Let the wind hold in the north another day, and we'll have frost." And hold to the north it did; not only for another day, but for two days; and under its cold, clear breath of a night a thin ice began to form in the hollows. It got under the sickly miasma of the city and scattered it across the world. The death-rate dropped like magic; people took heart and regarded life with a new eye; even those who had clung to the heights in fear began in thought to venture back; and those who had held to the town, facing death and fighting the advance of the pestilence, allowed their nerves to go slack, and rested from their labors, white and worn and all but beaten. It was the second day after the change that Anthony was summoned to the counting-house; immediately upon his entering, Tom Horn said: "Your uncle is in his room." Anthony knocked and went in. Charles sat at a table with Captain Weir; he looked haggard, as well he might, for in the last weeks of the plague his efforts had been tireless, and he had slept little. But, for all, there was a smile in his eyes, and his manner was as light as of old. "Why, now," said he, "you're prompt." "There is something for me to do?" "Something which _I_ should do," admitted Charles, "only I have a distaste for such things. But if you are so minded, you can attend to it very well." "I am quite ready," said Anthony. Weir looked at Charles, who drummed upon the edge of the table with his finger-tips and seemed at a loss for words with which to frame what was in his mind. But, with an effort, he finally said: