Again he pinned his mind to a more practical thing. Rufus Stevens' Sons had a rich ship fast in the ice not many miles below; and Rufus Stevens' Sons had enemies. Among those enemies--and the young man would have laid his head on the block in support of this--was Tarrant. And Tarrant was a friend to Lafargue, and apparently to Lafargue's daughter. Anthony fixed his eye on the long flare of a candle, and stood frowning at it. He had always thought her hair quite dark; but now he knew it was not. There was a great deal of copper in it, a deep, rich copper that had shone warmly in the candle-light. He wondered what that something was that candle-light had--it seemed to bring out truth so. That's why they burned them on altars, perhaps, or that's why their lighting, spoken of in certain books, was always the signal for the appearance of pixies and fairies. He stood for a long time so. Then he took his eyes from the candle and cursed himself for a fool! The gentle shape against the lovely glow was gone; in its place was the dirty hull of the _General Stark_, fast in the grip of the river; and filling the remainder of Anthony's world were the eyes of Tarrant--cold, malicious eyes, and greedy, too, and fixed upon the helpless vessel. A man came into the room and smirked at Anthony. "How do you do, sir?" said he. It was the man with the patch over his eye, and he approached the fire, where he warmed his large-boned hands and basked in the heat with many little gasps and whistlings of pleasure. "A bitter night," said he. "A bitter, raw night. It's very fortunate that one has a place like this to depend upon when affairs draw one so far from the city." "It is so," said Anthony. "A fine, generous place," said the man appreciatively. "Good food and drink, clean beds. Comfortable surroundings. A traveler should give thanks for gifts as good as these." "Especially as the place is so unexpected," said Anthony. Again the man smirked. He rubbed his hands together over the fire; there was something furtive in the way he did this, as though he were filching the warmth, and getting pleasure out of the fact that no one noticed it. "The inn _is_ curiously located," said he. "Very curiously. I've spoken of it more than once. But, then, shipmen are a fine-hearted lot, and when they come up from the sea they want comfort ashore. And who will blame them?" "Not I," said Anthony. There was a little pause; then the man spoke again. "You are connected with shipping, I'd say." "Yes." The man nodded. "There is something of the manner of the seaman about you," said he. "And yet," with another smirk, "I seem to see the merchant, too." "You have an excellent eye," said Anthony. "I wonder," said the man, "if I've ever come upon you before. I have a passing acquaintance with most of the traders, ship-owners, and traffickers in the port, and yet I can't recall you." "I have been in the North only a short time," said Anthony. "I'm of Rufus Stevens' Sons."