"Leave it to me, and I will find a way," said Jason.
But the old priest only wrung his hands, and cried, "I dare not; I must not; it is more than my place is worth."
"He will come back," said Jason.
"Only last week," said the priest, "I had a message from Reykjavik which foreshadowed his death. He knows it, we all know it."
"But he will come back," said Jason, again.
"My good lad, how can you say so? Where have you lived to think it possible? Once free of the place where the shadow of death hangs over him, what man alive would return to it."
"He will come back," said Jason, firmly; "I know he will, I swear he will."
"No, no," said the old man. "I'm only a simple old priest, buried alive these thirty years, or nearly, on this lonely island of the frozen seas, but I know better than that. It isn't in human nature, my good lad, and no man that breathes can do it. Then think of me, think of me!"
"I do think of you," said Jason, "and to show you how sure I am that he will come back, I will make you an offer."
"What is it?" said the priest.