And he drew near. I waited till he was close by, and then I stepped into the moonlight, which fell full and clear on my face. He gave a great cry, and lifting up his arm as if to ward off a blow fell back a pace or two and stood staring at me.
“Humphrey!” he cried.
“None other, cousin. The dead, you see, sometimes come to life again. And I am very much alive, Jasper.”
He stood still staring at me, and clutching his heart as if his breath came with difficulty.
“What have you to say, Jasper?” I asked at length.
“We—we thought you were drowned,” he gasped out. “There is an inscription on your father’s tombstone.”
“Liar!” I said. “You know I was not drowned. You know that you contrived that I should be carried to Mexico. Tell me no more lies, cousin. Let us for once have the plain truth. Why did you treat me as you did at Scarborough?”
“Because you stood ’twixt me and the inheritance,” he muttered sullenly.
“And so for the sake of a few acres of land and a goodly heritage you would condemn one who had never harmed you to horrors such as you cannot imagine?” I said. “Look at me, Jasper. Even in this light it is not difficult to see how I am changed. I have gone through such woes and torments as you would scarcely credit. I have been in the hands of devils in human shape, and they have so worked their will upon me that there is hardly an inch of my body that is not marked and scarred. That was thy doing, Jasper,—thine and thy fellow-villain’s. Dost know what happened to him?”