‘Those two are only sauntering,’ Jasper whispers; ’they will go out into the moonlight soon.  Let us keep quiet here, or they will detain us, or want to join us, or what not.’

Durdles nods assent, and falls to munching some fragments from his bundle.  Jasper folds his arms upon the top of the wall, and, with his chin resting on them, watches.  He takes no note whatever of the Minor Canon, but watches Neville, as though his eye were at the trigger of a loaded rifle, and he had covered him, and were going to fire.  A sense of destructive power is so expressed in his face, that even Durdles pauses in his munching, and looks at him, with an unmunched something in his cheek.

Meanwhile Mr. Crisparkle and Neville walk to and fro, quietly talking together.  What they say, cannot be heard consecutively; but Mr. Jasper has already distinguished his own name more than once.

‘This is the first day of the week,’ Mr. Crisparkle can be distinctly heard to observe, as they turn back; ’and the last day of the week is Christmas Eve.’

‘You may be certain of me, sir.’

The echoes were favourable at those points, but as the two approach, the sound of their talking becomes confused again.  The word ‘confidence,’ shattered by the echoes, but still capable of being pieced together, is uttered by Mr. Crisparkle.  As they draw still nearer, this fragment of a reply is heard:  ’Not deserved yet, but shall be, sir.’  As they turn away again, Jasper again hears his own name, in connection with the words from Mr. Crisparkle:  ‘Remember that I said I answered for you confidently.’  Then the sound of their talk becomes confused again; they halting for a little while, and some earnest action on the part of Neville succeeding.  When they move once more, Mr. Crisparkle is seen to look up at the sky, and to point before him.  They then slowly disappear; passing out into the moonlight at the opposite end of the Corner.

It is not until they are gone, that Mr. Jasper moves.  But then he turns to Durdles, and bursts into a fit of laughter.  Durdles, who still has that suspended something in his cheek, and who sees nothing to laugh at, stares at him until Mr. Jasper lays his face down on his arms to have his laugh out.  Then Durdles bolts the something, as if desperately resigning himself to indigestion.

Among those secluded nooks there is very little stir or movement after dark.  There is little enough in the high tide of the day, but there is next to none at night.  Besides that the cheerfully frequented High Street lies nearly parallel to the spot (the old Cathedral rising between the two), and is the natural channel in which the Cloisterham traffic flows, a certain awful hush pervades the ancient pile, the cloisters, and the churchyard, after dark, which not many people care to encounter.  Ask the first hundred citizens of Cloisterham, met at random in the streets at noon, if they believed in Ghosts, they