When he'd shut the door of the counting-room of a night, leaving the trusty old porter to draw the fires and put out the lamps, he'd trudge away to some tavern and have a lonely supper; then he'd be off through the snow, for the weather held sharp, and there was little thaw, to his lodgings in Sassafras Street, where he'd sit and brood by candle-light. Now and then he'd allow himself the pleasure of a visit to Christopher Dent; and there, in the back room, he'd smoke and listen to the little apothecary's pleased reminiscences of days that had long gone by. Once or twice during these visits Tom Horn also chanced in to warm his legs by Christopher's stove, before seeking the room he had in a court off Front Street. But on these occasions he'd say nothing. Stamping the snow from his heels, he'd hang his hat upon a peg and take his accustomed chair by the stove. And while Christopher talked and Anthony smoked and listened, Tom Horn would keep his eyes fixed upon the young man's face; what he saw there must have pleased him, for every now and then he'd break forth into a series of approving nods, and he'd rub his well-warmed worsted stockings smartly and with much confidence. Of course, Anthony knew who Christopher's lodgers were; he'd frowned when he first heard it, and when he reached his rooms that night his thoughts were far from pleasant. He could never quite forget the beautiful, spirited creature he'd seen on the first morning after his arrival in the city; he could never quite forget the tremble in her rich voice as she appealed to him for aid. Also, and his brow grew dark at this, he could never forget the look she'd given him that night at the Crooked Billet, that cold, stabbing look of scorn; and her head had turned away so that she might not see him, and she had walked into the conference of his enemies. Each time after a visit at Christopher's he'd go through this, and each time the train of thought would have its beginning in some trifling thing. Once as he left the apothecary's shop he saw the windows of the second floor lighted up and the lamp glow shining down upon the snow. Once while he sat with his pipe in the apothecary's back room he heard a light foot on the stairs beyond the partition wall; the street door opened and closed. She had gone out! The streets were dark and lonely! He had half arisen to follow her; then he crushed himself back in his chair. At still another time he heard the faint tinkling of a stringed instrument, and the sweet murmur of a voice, singing a little French song. There was a peaceful something in this that shook Anthony; and as he sat in his room afterward his thoughts were very bitter, indeed.