"Ay, the Lord be thanked!" murmured Edward Webbe.
The two old men had been feasting their eyes on the dawn-light over in the east. But Gilbert Oglander, who now rose to his feet and faced the westward, gave a slight start and quietly placed his hand on Hartop's shoulder.
"The galleon is still in sight, Master Hartop," said he.
"Ay," echoed Timothy Trollope, "she is still in sight."
Slowly and deliberately Jacob turned his head. His hand lost its hold of the tiller. Slowly he looked back again at his companions.
"What means it?" he muttered hoarsely through his dry, parched lips. His face was ashen gray and woefully haggard. He seemed to have aged a score of years since the last evening. "What means it?" he repeated dryly.
"It seemeth to me," said Gilbert, "that your golden galleon is no ghost after all, but a veritable floating ship."
"Said you not that she was loaded with Spanish treasure, Master Hartop?" questioned Timothy.
Jacob nodded.