"I cannot tell you more than I have related," replied the vicar. "This man Pratt took back the cup, and is now in London--where, no one knows.

I fear the cup is as lost as though it had been swallowed up by the ocean!"

"It is enough that I know in whose possession it is," said Kilspindie, with determination. "In some way or another I shall find this man. For I may tell you, Mr Tempest, that, besides the recovery of a family treasure, I have another and more important object in view--the recovery of my son, who was stolen from me at the time the cup disappeared."

Tempest expressed much astonishment at this information, and Sybil opened her eyes wide. She had never thought that her attempt to clear the character of her lover would lead to such a result. Neither she nor her father knew what to say, and, seeing them silent, Lord Kilspindie continued to speak.

"How the cup came into the possession of this man I cannot say. It was taken from the castle by a nurse called Janet Grant, who also carried away the child."

"Why did she do that?" asked Sybil, horrified.

"Out of revenge for a fancied slight she received from my wife," replied Kilspindie, with a sigh; "but it is best I should tell you all from the beginning. First, you must know the legend of the cup, that you may understand the value we Grants attach to its possession."

"I am fond of folk-lore," murmured the vicar, settling himself down for a pleasant half-hour. "Your family name is Grant, then, my lord?"

"Yes. Our t.i.tle is Kilspindie, an earldom. My son who was stolen--my only son and only child, alas!--is Lord Morven, if he be still alive.

But who knows if I shall ever see him again?"

"Hope for the best," said the vicar, gently. "G.o.d is over all!"

"You are right, Mr Tempest. But how many weary years have I waited, and have had to comfort myself in that fashion. Now, when I had lost all hope, the advertis.e.m.e.nt roused it again. If I find the cup I may discover my boy, or, at all events, I may find out if he is alive or dead."

"I am sure he is alive," said Sybil, impulsively. "Dear Lord Kilspindie, if there was no chance of your finding him I should not have been guided to put in that advertis.e.m.e.nt. It was entirely my own doing, and had I consulted with my father it would never have appeared."

"It certainly would not," said the vicar, promptly. "I had placed the matter in the hands of Mr Marton, and I was angry when I saw the advertis.e.m.e.nt--very angry, indeed."

"You must not be angry any more, Mr Tempest," said Kilspindie, with a smile, "seeing that it may lead to the discovery of my son. I owe much to Miss Tempest's indiscretion, as you no doubt call it."

"No," said Sybil, resolutely; "I am sure papa does not call it that. I did it to help Leo, and I would do it again. But tell us the legend, Lord Kilspindie."

The old man laughed. "If you have not the imagination of the Celt you will think it but a poor thing," he said. "In the days of Bruce, and on the Border, Nigel Grant, the head of the clan--my ancestor, Mr Tempest--was riding home from a foray against the English. He had been successful, and had collected a large mob of cattle, which were being driven to the castle by his followers. He was anxious to get home, for when he had left, two weeks previously, his wife was expected to give birth to a child. The chief eagerly desired that it might be a boy, for he had few relatives, and those he had were his bitterest enemies."

"What!" said Tempest, "and the Scotch so clannish?"

"They are more clannish in the Highlands than on the Border," replied the old lord. "Many of the Border families fought with one another. My clan did also for many a long day, although they are friendly enough now. However, you know the reason that Nigel Grant was so eager for an heir."

"Wouldn't a girl have done?" asked Sybil mischievously.

"By no means. The chief wanted a brave boy, to bestride a horse and wield a sword, and govern the unruly Grant clan with a strong hand. He had prayed to the Virgin to give him his heart's desire--they were all Roman Catholics in those days, remember. So you may guess he rode home at top speed, and as he neared the castle he was far in advance of his followers and alone. And then came the fairies."

"The fairies!" echoed Sybil. "This is interesting," and she laughed.

"We call them the Good Neighbours in Scotland, you know, because the fairies don't like to be talked about with disrespect. But to go on with my story. Nigel Grant was on a wide moor all alone, although the lances of his men-at-arms glittered on the verge of the horizon. Suddenly--from the viewless air, apparently, since there was no rock or tree or shelter of any kind--there appeared a small woman dressed in green, with a golden crown. At the sight of her the chief's horse stopped all at once, as though stricken into stone. The fairy queen--for it was she, the same, I suppose, who appeared to Thomas the Rhymer."

"Ah! _she_ was mounted on a horse!" said Sybil, half to herself.

"Indeed? Well, this queen was on foot, and in her arms she carried a child. Stopping before Nigel, she placed the child on his saddle-bow, and told him to take it home for a year and a day. 'If it returns to us safe and sound,' she continued, 'great good fortune will befall the Grants. But if anything wrong is done to it, then will sorrow come.' So speaking she vanished, and the horse, suddenly regaining motion, galloped home to the castle, bearing the amazed chief with his child in his arms."

"His child, my lord?" asked the vicar, smiling.

"It had to be his child for a year and a day. He found that during his absence his wife had given birth to a fine boy, but that a day or so after it was born the cradle was found empty. Lady Grant was in a great state of terror, as you may imagine. When the chief told his story she declared that her child had been carried off by the Good Neighbours. It was her wish to kill the changeling. But this the chief, mindful of the prophecy, would not permit. It was supposed that the fairy child required to be nursed by a mortal woman, and this was why the chief's boy had been carried away."

"I never heard that version of the old story before," said Tempest.

"No? It is usually said that the fairies want the child for themselves.

But in this story what I have told you was believed. Lady Grant, hoping to get back her own child in a year and a day, nursed the changeling. It was a peevish, cross, whimpering creature, and marvellously ugly. But when she fed it with her milk it grew fat and strong, and became good-tempered.

"On the night when the year and a day were up, there was heard the sound of galloping horses round the castle. A wind swept into the rooms and down the corridors. Everyone in the castle fell into a magic sleep. But in the morning the true child was found smiling in his cradle and the fairy changeling was gone. In the cradle also was the cup I am seeking, and a scroll saying that while it was kept in the family no ill would befall, but that if lost the line would be in danger of extinction."

"And did the prophecy ever come true?" asked Sybil.

"Twice," replied Kilspindie, with the most profound conviction. "In the reign of the first James of Scotland the cup was stolen, and three brothers of the chief were slain in battle. Only the child of one of them lived, for the chief had no family. Then the cup was brought back--I could tell you how, but the story is too long--and the child was spared to become the father of a large family."

"And the second time?" asked Tempest, wondering how much of this wild tale the old lord believed.

"The second time was in the reign of Henry VIII. The castle was sacked and the cup taken. All the family were killed, but the nurse managed to save one child, with whom she fled. After a series of adventures the cup was restored and the child regained his inheritance."

"How strange!" said Sybil. "And now that the cup is lost again?"

Kilspindie smiled. "Well, you see, Miss Tempest, I have but one son and he is lost. If I do not find him the t.i.tle and estates must go to a distant cousin, and the prophecy of the fairies will be fulfilled. That is why I am so anxious to get the cup. If I can find it and bring it back to Kilspindie Castle, I am certain that I shall find my boy."

"A wild story," said the vicar, after a pause. "There is oftentimes a grain of truth in these folktales. But tell me, how came it that the cup was stolen the third time?"

"I am about to tell you," replied the visitor. "There was a woman called Janet Grant, the daughter of one of my tenants. She was in service at my place, but after some years she became weary of the dull life. We are not very lively up in the north," said Kilspindie, with a laugh.

"However, this woman got tired and went up to London. There, I believe, she obtained a situation, but what her life was while absent I do not know. She was always reticent on the point. After six years she returned. In the interval I had married, and at the time Janet returned, or a year before, my wife became a mother. I was the father of a splendid boy, my son and heir, Lord Morven. Janet was taken back into my service as an under nurse, for she was a very capable woman."

"Had she a good temper?" asked Sybil, guessing what was coming.

"One of the worst tempers in the world. Also she was evil in her disposition. Had I known then what was told to me afterwards by the other servants, she should never have re-entered my service. But they were all afraid of Janet and her wicked ways, and therefore remained silent when it was their duty to speak out. When the boy was two years of age, or it may be a trifle over, the head nurse died. Janet expected to succeed, but my wife appointed another woman."

"She did not trust Janet," hinted the vicar.

"No. By this time Janet was not so careful in her behaviour, and my wife began to suspect her true character. Janet was very angry at the slight--as she called it--and swore she would be revenged. Of course, she knew the legend of the cup, so it struck her, no doubt, that if she stole the cup the usual disaster would follow."

"What superst.i.tion!" murmured Mr Tempest.

"Well, I don't know, sir," said Kilspindie, quietly. "You see, Mr Tempest, we had chapter and verse for what might happen. However, Janet, out of revenge, took away the child and stole the cup. She had no difficulty in doing either. The cup was placed in the picture gallery under a gla.s.s shade, for no one ever expected that it would be stolen.

It was not guarded so carefully as it should have been. But who would have thought that any one of my faithful servants would steal? As to the child, Janet was one day sent out with him. The head nurse remained at home. I believe she then took the cup with her. At all events she never returned, and when a search was made both the child and the cup were missing." Here Lord Kilspindie stopped and shook his head.

"What happened after that?" asked Sybil, curiously.

"There is no more to tell, Miss Tempest. The woman vanished utterly with the child and the cup. My wife, poor soul, died of grief. I employed all manner of means to find the woman, but without result. I even offered a reward and a pardon if she would bring back what she had taken. But she gave no sign of her existence. Well"--Kilspindie sighed--"that is all. I have been a lonely man for over twenty years, and things have gone wrong with me in every way. I am certain that prosperity will not return to me and mine until the cup is brought back. Then I may hope to recover my son. You can understand now how anxious I am to find this man Pratt. I would willingly pardon him all if he would give back the cup."

"I wonder how he became possessed of it?" said Tempest.

"Ah!" said Kilspindie, "that is what we must find out. He seems to be an accomplished thief, so it may be that he stole the cup. On the other hand, Janet, finding herself hard up, may have p.a.w.ned it, and Pratt may have got it into his possession in that way. You tell me that he has a love for beautiful things."

"Such a love," said the vicar, sadly, "that he is willing to be a thief to obtain them. Well, my lord, at present I do not see how we can help you."

"There is one way," said Kilspindie, after a pause. "Give me a letter to this Mr Marton, and with his aid I may succeed in tracing Pratt. In the meantime I intend to wait here for a few days. At my age I am not able to get about so rapidly as I once did."