At that very moment Jasper was coming to meet me. I knew it not, nor did he.
Between the churchyard and the manor-house of Beechcot there is a field called the Duke’s Garth, and across this runs a foot-path. As I turned away from reading my own epitaph, I saw a figure advancing along this path and making for the churchyard. It was the figure of a man, and he was singing some catch or song softly to himself. I recognized the voice at once. It was Jasper’s. I drew back into the shadow cast by the buttress of the chancel and waited his coming. We were going to settle our account once and forever.
He came lightly over the stile which separates the garth from the churchyard, and was making rapid strides towards the vicarage when I stopped him.
“Jasper,” I said, speaking in a deep voice and concealing myself in the shadow. “Jasper Stapleton.”
He stopped instantly, and stood looking intently towards where I stood.
“Who calls me?” he said.
“I, Jasper,—thy cousin, Humphrey Salkeld.”
I could have sworn that he started and began to tremble. But suddenly he laughed.
“Dead men call nobody,” said he. “You are some fool that is trying to frighten me. Come out, sirrah!”