The next morning as Anthony ate his breakfast at the inn he noticed many glances cast in his direction; waiters spoke to each other behind their hands, while they watched him out of the tails of their eyes. He smiled, even while he frowned. He had finished, and was seated, with a journal, at a window in the public room, when he noted a slight man of middle age come in, look about, and ask a question of a porter. "Mr. Stevens," said the man, in a hushed sort of voice, as he came forward. "I am from the counting-house of Rufus Stevens' Sons, and have been sent to say that Mr. Charles Stevens is now in the city." Anthony felt a thrill of satisfaction. "Thank you," he said. And then, "Did Mr. Stevens direct you to bring me word?" "No," said the man. "Not Mr. Stevens--Captain Weir." "I see," said Anthony. There was something fragile about the man; his skin had a transparent quality, his hands were thin and nervous, his whole aspect was worn. As Anthony looked at him, he became aware of something that impressed itself upon him as a glow--a pallid, luminous something--white, like moonlight. "I will step down to the counting-house during the course of the day," said the young man. "I trust Mr. Stevens is well?" "Quite well," said the man. This luminous quality which Anthony felt the man threw off also lit up his eyes. They were deep-set eyes, light in color and full of pain; in them a pale hope seemed constantly lifting itself through shadows, only to sink again. "Is there anything more?" asked Anthony, as the other lingered. The man shook his head, but did not move. "I am Tom Horn," said he. "As a boy, I worked as clerk for your grandfather. And now I am clerk again." There was an oddity in this simple statement that supplied a missing portion of Anthony's conception of the man. Surely he was not quite firm in his mind. "In your grandfather's time," said Tom Horn, "the circles flowed freely about the world. They were wide and wonderful, and the sun and the wind and the stars were in them." He bent closer to Anthony: "Do you know what makes the wind to blow?" he asked. "No," said Anthony. "No more does any one else," said Tom Horn. "No one in all the world knows what makes the wind to blow. And no one knows why water flows in circles, and rings in every ship, every island, and every man. Once," he said, "I saw a circle around the moon. The world moves in a circle. I do, too. I began as a clerk; and I am a clerk once more." "You held a better position once, then," said Anthony. "I was supercargo in the _William and Mary_," said Tom Horn. "Three voyages in all. She was a stout ship, and well officered. But what can wooden planks and good intentions do when once the circle begins to narrow? Nothing. It is like one man setting his strength to prevent the world turning over. All circles move. There is no power under God's that can stop them."