"A ship is no place for you," said Tom Horn to Anthony. "You need a quiet mind; and aboard ship there will be bellowing mates, and foremast hands who swear sour oaths. And at sea you'd be beyond call if needed in any matter of business." "Why, yes," said Christopher. "That is true. Perhaps the hut I spoke of on the shore is best for you, after all." And then, as the young man looked at him inquiringly, he told of what had passed between mademoiselle and Tom Horn and himself. And Anthony listened with favor. "There you'd be quite alone," said Tom Horn. "It cleanses the soul to be alone after a time of great stress; and things resolve themselves as they would not otherwise." Anthony asked many questions of Christopher, and the answers seemed greatly to his liking. There were fish to snare and wild fowl to shoot; the hut was snug and faced the sea; the wind swept the beach and the dunes and the bay. The young man drew the air into his lungs in anticipation. "In such a place," said he, "a man might grow as well as he had a mind to." "You'll go, then," said the little apothecary, pleased. "I will," said Anthony. "It's a good thought, and I thank you for it." Tom Horn said nothing but sat and watched Anthony in the same odd way he had formerly done when the young man first came to Rufus Stevens' Sons. And when, at last, Anthony arose to go Tom went with him. "I'll take you a step or two on your way," he said. They paced along, side by side; Anthony was silent; now and again Tom Horn would look at him; more than once the odd clerk seemed about to speak, but paused on the verge of it. At last he said, his head nodding: "There is a shoal there, and the white ghosts move through the night when the winds blow." "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."