"Exactly; you know him, sir?"
"No," I answered, "but I have seen him, very lately, and I say
again to stop this duel is an impossibility."
"Do you mean--" he began, and paused. Now, as his eyes met mine,
the battered hat escaped his fingers, and lay all unheeded. "Do
you mean--" he began again, and again stopped.
"Yes," said I, "I mean that you are too late. Sir Jasper was
killed at a place called Deepdene Wood, no longer since than
to-day at half-past seven in the morning. It was raining at
the time, I remember, but the day grew glorious later."
For a long moment Mr. Beverley stood silent with bent head, then,
apparently becoming aware of the hat at his feet, he sent it
flying with a sudden kick, and watched it describe a wide parabola
ere it disappeared into the ditch, some yards away. Which done,
he walked after it, and returned, brushing it very carefully with
his ragged cuff.
"And--you are sure--quite sure, Mr. Vibart?" he inquired, smoothing
the broken brim with the greatest solicitude.
"I stood behind a hedge, and watched it done," said I.
"Then--my God!--I am Sir Peregrine Beverley! I am Sir Peregrine
Beverley of Burnham Hall, very much at your service. Jasper--dead!
A knight banneret of Kent, and Justice of the Peace! How utterly
preposterous it all sounds! But to-day I begin life anew, ah, yes,
a new life, a new life! To-day all things are possible again!
The fool has learned wisdom, and, I hope, become a man. But come,"
said he in a more natural tone, "let us get back to our ditch, and,
while you tell me the particulars, if you don't object I should
much like to try a whiff at that pipe of yours."
So, while I recounted the affair as briefly as I might, he sat
puffing at my pipe, and staring away into the distance. But
gradually his head sank lower and lower, until his face was quite
hidden from me, and for a long moment after I had ended my
narration, there was silence.
"Poor Jasper!" said he at last, without raising his head, "poor
old Jasper!"
"I congratulate you, Sir Peregrine," said I.
"And I used to pummel him so, when we were boys together at Eton
--poor old Jasper!" And, presently, he handed me my pipe, and
rose. "Mr. Vibart," said he, "it would seem that by no effort,
or virtue of my own, I am to win free of this howling desolation
of Nowhere-in-Particular, after all; believe me, I would gladly
take you with me. Had I not met with you it is--rather more than
probable--that I--should never have seen another dawn; so if--if
ever I can be of--use to you, pray honor me so far; you can
always hear of me at Burnham Hall, Pembry. Good-by, Mr. Vibart,
I am going to her--in all my rags--for I am a man again."