Job started to his feet with an oath.
"Come, no larks with me, lads!" he said, savagely. "This is a stale game——"
The words died out on his lips, for as the light approached nearer it disclosed the form of the long-lost Leicester Dodson.
There was his pale face and lank hair, all dripping with water, sea weed clung to his white shroud and hung at his elbows.
He looked as if he had just risen from his watery grave.
Job's knees shook and he fell to the ground; the spirit drew nearer and scowled down upon him with fierce eyes, which glowed like fire from the chalky-hued cheeks. Job's fear grew almost to madness. Here was a ghost indeed! One to make his heart quake and his soul shudder to its innermost core.
"Maester Leicester!" he grasped. "Maester Leicester! have mercy on my soul! Have mercy!"
The fearful words rolled through the chapel, and the ghost seemed to hear them, for in a sepulchral voice, it formed the word, "Confess!"
"I will, I will," gasped Job. "I'll confess all—before a magistrate, Maester Leicester, dear Maester Leicester—oh, Heaven, how terrible! Oh, Maester Leicester, I didn't think you'd be drowned! I'd never a done! I'll confess all! I'll confess what I've seen, I'll tell how the captain put the paper in the old bureau! I see him do it—I see him and Jem Starling; and I know who killed Jem! I know! I know! Oh, Maester Leicester, have mercy on a live man and I'll tell all!"