Anthony, glancing over his shoulder, nodded soberly. And Mr. Sparhawk went on to tell all the steps that had been taken to bring some degree of order out of the ruin. It was a bleak, dispiriting catalogue; the track of events wound through gloomy places; there were voids which had been filled with promises; there were moneys paid out of which there was no accounting; there were debts due or owing which had never been written down; there were passages dull with stupidity, or foul with malpractice; and Anthony grew a little sick as he listened; for it was familiar ground; it had broken him before, and he felt it could break him again. He tried to shut his ears to the dull hammering of Mr. Sparhawk's facts. The clever parrying of that little gentleman, or of old Mr. Crousillat, in some close engagements of wits, or their sudden and skilful assault upon some detected plunderer, brought nothing but pain to Anthony's mind; for he could think only of his own struggles and defeats in that same place of gloom, of dismal suspicion, of maddening unreality. He felt as a trapped wolf might feel, brought back to the place of its disaster. And he wanted no more of it! He fervently wanted no more of it. A struggle he did not mind; indeed, he welcomed it; but it must be a struggle with things seen, with men or events with which one might come in open contact. This ship, now--adrift, lost, crammed with a treasure of merchandise! She was a thing to make his nerves crackle and his blood leap. His mind could value the danger she was in, if the sea held her at all--danger at the hands of wandering or purposeful men, in the crush of winds and seas, in the heart of a vast silence, and a desolation almost impossible to penetrate. With a sound deck under him, a few resourceful hands to carry out his orders, and the far seas ahead! That would be a man's part. He'd rise to that. But to be like a mole, digging, digging in the dark! He'd have no more of it! He could stand no more of it! Mr. Sparhawk stayed for an hour and talked. The things he said were needful things, though unpleasant; and Anthony, understanding this, tried to bear with them. But, when the little man finally took his leave, the young one drew a deep breath and at once began to change his dress, preparatory to his day's affairs. Within an hour he was at the Lafargues' lodgings. Both mademoiselle and her father were awaiting him. "It is generous of you to come back to the city so promptly," said Monsieur Lafargue eagerly. "Are not my interests involved?" asked Anthony. "When a chance is shown me finally to accomplish a thing for which I once strove and failed, could I stand still and see it pass?" "You think, then," said the girl, her eyes shining, "that there _is_ a chance?" "It is a strange thing," said Anthony. "A strange thing, indeed. But, then, why not? If we stopped because things were not usual, our hands would hang at our sides in all the important turnings of our lives."