“I know.  Now, listen.”

Ellery went on talking rapidly and with great earnestness.  Ebenezer listened, at first silently, then breaking in with ejaculations and grunts of astonishment.  He sat up on the edge of the bed.

“Rubbish!” he cried at last, “why, ’tain’t possible!  The feller’s dead as Methusalem’s grandmarm.  I remember how it happened and—­”

“It wasn’t true.  That much I know.  I know, I tell you.”

He went on to explain why he knew.  Capen’s astonishment grew.

“Judas priest!” he exclaimed again.  “That would explain why I thought I’d seen—­There! heave ahead.  I’ve got to see.  But it’s a mistake.  I don’t believe it.”

The pair entered the sick room.  The sailor lay in a stupor.  His breathing was rapid, but faint.  Capen bent over him and gently moved the bandage on his face.  For a full minute he gazed steadily.  Then he stood erect, drew a big red hand across his forehead, and moved slowly back to the living room.

“Well?” asked Ellery eagerly.

Ebenezer sat down in the rocker.  “Judas priest!” he said for the third time.  “Don’t talk to me!  When it comes my time they’ll have to prove I’m dead.  I won’t believe it till they do.  Ju-das priest!”

“Then you recognize him?”

The old man nodded solemnly.

“Yup,” he said, “it’s him.  Mr. Ellery, what are you goin’ to do about it?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I must go somewhere by myself and think.  I don’t know what to do.”

The minister declined to wait for breakfast.  He said he was not hungry.  Leaving Ebenezer to put on the coffeepot and take up his duties as day nurse, Ellery walked off along the beach.  The “dead line” prevented his going very far, but he sat down in the lee of a high dune and thought until his head ached.  What should he do?  What was best for him to do?

He heard the rattle of the doctor’s chaise and the voices of Ebenezer and Parker in conversation.  He did not move, but remained where he was, thinking, thinking.  By and by he heard Capen calling his name.

“Mr. Ellery!” shouted Ebenezer.  “Mr. Ellery, where be you?”

“Here!” replied the minister.

The old man came scrambling over the sand.  He was panting and much excited.

“Mr. Ellery!” he cried, “Mr. Ellery! it’s settled for us—­one part of it, anyhow.  He’s slipped his cable.”

“What?” The minister sprang up.

“Yup.  He must have died just a little while after you left and after I gave him his medicine.  I thought he looked kind of queer then.  And when the doctor came we went in together and he was dead.  Yes, sir, dead.”

“Dead!”

“Um—­hm.  No doubt of it; it’s for good this time.  Mr. Ellery, what shall we do?  Shall I tell Dr. Parker?”

Ellery considered for a moment.  “No,” he said slowly.  “No, Capen, don’t tell anyone.  I can’t see why they need ever know that he hasn’t been dead for years, as they supposed.  Promise me to keep it a secret.  I’ll tell—­her—­myself, later on.  Now promise me; I trust you.”