emoved from the
little cedar tender. The intense heat of the oven had thoroughly dried
these, so that they were again in working condition, together with the
spark coil. The Doctor carried the attachments from the shack to the
launch, in which he installed them. This accomplished, he succeeded,
after a great deal of straining effort, in getting launched the small
craft, which had been left high up on the sand. By means of an oar, he
paddled the boat around to the Captain's miniature wharf. He made it
fast here and then busied himself in tuning up the engine. When at last
it was running smoothly, he threw in the clutch, and steered the launch
toward the wreck of _The Isabel_. As he neared the oyster rocks, he
slowed down the engine, and ran directly over the sunken part of the
vessel. There, he peered intently over the side into the depths of the
water. Of a sudden, he drew back as if in fright, and his face became
ghastly pale. He threw in the clutch and steered at full speed back for
the landing. One glimpse of the dead eyes glaring up at him had
sufficed. Though he was a physician, inured to dreadful sights, he
quailed before this hideous spectacle.

At the landing, he hurriedly made the boat fast, and then ran swiftly to
the shack. He disappeared for a moment inside, and then came forth
bearing his medicine case and blankets. He stowed the case in the launch
and spread out the blankets in the bow. This done, he returned to the
shack. When he issued from it again, he staggered under a burden almost
too great for his strength--the unconscious form of Ethel Marion. He
bore her with what haste he could to the landing and gently placed her
within the blankets.

At this moment, Doctor Garnet looked in all reality the part of a wild
man. He was coatless and hatless. The strong breeze made new tangles in
his already disheveled hair. Then, through long seconds, he stood
staring bleakly at the distorted and broken yacht. Abruptly there came
from his lips a weird wail of distress. That cry meant that everything
good in life was over for him. His face set in sullen lines, as he
loosed the painter and seated himself aft by the engine. He opened the
throttle, and, heading to the northward, soon left the sands of
Ichabod's Island and those staring eyes of the dead man far behind.

So absorbed had the Doctor been in his purpose of flight that he failed
even to see the action of Shrimp. Just as the launch began to move away
from t