Leo nodded. "I have too many unpleasant secrets of my own not to keep those of others," he said. "Well, what's up?"

"Read this letter from Pratt."

"Pratt!" Haverleigh took the letter hurriedly. "Why, what is he writing to you about?" He cast his eyes over the letter. It was to the effect that Pratt would be glad to see Raston at a certain place in London to speak with him about the cup which had been lost. It asked the curate to keep the contents of the letter a secret, or at all events to tell only Leo Haverleigh. Also, it warned Raston that if he behaved treacherously, and brought down the police on Pratt, that there would be the devil to pay. These last words were underlined and shocked the curate. The time and place of the appointment were also underlined, and from the way in which the meeting was arranged Leo could see that his father had contrived to see Raston without running the risk of arrest.

"I wonder what he wants to see you about!" said Leo, handing back the letter and speaking uneasily. He fancied that Pratt might be going to reveal to Raston the secret of his own paternity.

"About the cup," said Raston, returning the letter to his pocket. "I suppose he is about to give it back to us again. Not that it will ever be used again for so sacred a purpose. I shall take it and return it to Lord Kilspindie. That is only right, as the cup was stolen from him."

"Ah, I forgot! You think that Pratt has the cup?" said Leo.

"He has. Do you not remember the letter he wrote to Marton saying he had stolen the cup and again had it in his possession?"

"I remember; but that was one of Pratt's fairy tales."

"How do you know?" asked Raston, astonished. "Has he written to you?"

"No. I have seen him."

"In London?"

"In Colester."

Raston pushed back his chair and stared at his friend. "When did you see him in Colester?" he asked, open-mouthed.

"A few days ago." Leo pondered for a moment while Raston stared at him.

He wondered if it would not be as well to make a confidant of the curate, and ask his advice. The secret was rapidly becoming too much for him to bear alone. Raston was his friend, a good fellow, and a wise young man. Certainly it would be well to confide in him. Leo made up his mind. "I have to tell you something that will astonish you. I speak in confidence, Raston."

"Anything you tell me will be sacred," replied the curate, with dignity.

Leo nodded, quite satisfied with this a.s.surance. Then he related all that had taken place in the castle on that night when he had discovered Mrs Gabriel and Pratt in company. Raston fairly gasped with surprise as the recital proceeded, and when Leo confessed that Pratt claimed him as a son he sprang from his seat.

"I don't believe a word of it!" he cried, bringing his fist down on the table. "The man is a vile liar. Whomsoever you may be, Leo, you are certainly not the son of this wretch. Can a bad tree bear good fruit?

No."

"But he can give me proofs."

"He has not done so yet. Let me speak to him, Leo. I may be able to get more out of him than you. I am your friend, you know that! so if you will place the matter in my hands, I promise to find out the truth somehow."

"Well," said Leo, with some hesitation, "I rather thought of coming with you to London. Pratt expects me."

"He has not written to that effect," said Raston. "I tell you, Leo, the man is dangerous and unscrupulous. The fact that he claims you as his son will prevent you dealing freely with him. I can manage him better myself. You go back to Colester and Miss Tempest. It is but right that you should do what she wishes, as she has held by you in your time of trouble. Besides, I quite approve of her wish to introduce you to Lord Kilspindie. And if--oh!--" Raston stopped short.

"What's the matter, Raston?"

"Suppose you should be the long-lost son of Lord Kilspindie?"

"Ridiculous!" said Leo, shaking his head and flushing.

"It is no more ridiculous than that you should be the son of a thief--or, rather, believe yourself to be so. Why should you believe the bad and doubt the good? See here, Leo"--Raston was much excited--"the cup was lost along with the child. Pratt has the cup, why should you not be the child? The woman who stole both might have died and pa.s.sed them on to Pratt. For his own purposes he says that he is your father."

"I can't believe it, Raston," said Leo, shaking his head.

"Well; disbelieve it if you choose. If the thing is so, what you think will not alter it. All I ask is that you should let me represent you at this interview. I have to see Pratt on my own account. Let me see him on yours."

"Very good, Raston. You can do what you like. I am greatly obliged to you for the trouble you are taking."

"Indeed, it is only right, Leo," protested the curate. "I begin to see that you have been wronged. I may not be right in my surmise about your being the son of Kilspindie. But I am sure that I am correct in saying you are not the son of that scoundrel. Now, go back to Colester, hold your tongue, and wait till I come back on Sat.u.r.day."

"I'll do as you wish," said Leo, sadly; "but indeed I have no hope."

"I have," said the curate, emphatically, and the conversation ended.

The next day Raston departed by the steamer to London, _via_ Worthing, and Leo returned to his old quarters at the Colester Arms. His meeting with the curate had done him good, and although he did not adhere to Raston's theory about his n.o.ble paternity, yet he felt more cheerful and hopeful. He was particular as to his toilet, which, in his despair, he had rather neglected of late, and went to the Vicarage. Sybil was away with Pearl on the moor, the servant said. Leo would have followed, but Mr Tempest caught sight of him, and insisted that he should enter and be introduced to Lord Kilspindie. Leo willingly obeyed, as he was anxious to see his supposed father according to Raston. He could not help smiling when he was presented.

Kilspindie was taken by that smile. He saw before him a singularly splendid young man, with a graceful, slender figure and a handsome face, but best of all was the kindly look in the eyes. Kilspindie shook hands heartily with Leo, and sighed as he thought that his lost son might be just such another. Had he known of what Raston and the young man before him had talked about on the previous night, he might have been more particular in his inquiries, and might perchance have been brought to think as Raston did. However, he knew nothing, Leo said nothing, and the conversation resolved itself into the common-place. Tempest was kind to Leo, Kilspindie was friendly, and the three got on very well.

Meanwhile, Sybil and Pearl were walking across the moor. After a time they stopped at the turf altar erected by the mad girl, and she explained to her companion the reason she had made such a place.

"The Master is angry with poor Pearl now," she said sadly, "and He has taken the sacred cup from her. She is not good enough to keep it. But when the Master is pleased, and will save Pearl from the Pit"--she shuddered--"He will place the cup on this altar, and Pearl will bring it back to the chapel. Then she will be saved and happy."

"But, Pearl, you must not think of G.o.d in this way. He is your Father, and He loves you."

"He _did_ love Pearl, but He made her ill, and Mrs Jeal told Pearl that she was wicked and in danger of the Worm."

"Pearl! Pearl! Do not believe that. Mrs Jeal is wrong. G.o.d loves you!"

"Why, then, did He make Pearl ill if He loved her? And why did He take away the Holy Grail which Pearl watched over so carefully?"

"He did not take it away," said Sybil, hardly knowing what reply to make.

"Yes, He did," persisted the poor, mad creature. "Pearl was not good enough to keep it. But when she is good the cup will come down to earth again."

"Do you think it is in heaven now, Pearl?"

"I am sure it is. No roof here to stop the cup from floating up to the New Jerusalem. In the chapel it would have stayed, because the bad roof kept it down, but here it went up and up and up to the sky."

Sybil did not know what to make of this talk. She soothed the girl as much as she could and tried to bring her back to that old happy state of mind which Mrs Jeal had destroyed with her gloomy Calvinistic creed. But it was all of no use. Only the restoration of the cup would make Pearl believe that she was good again. However, Sybil induced her to talk of other things, of birds and flowers, and the poor creature was in a quieter state of mind when Sybil brought her back to the cottage.

"I go every morning to the altar," said Pearl, as she went inside. "The cup will come back when the Master is sorry for Pearl."

At this moment Mrs Jeal pulled her into the house and scolded her for being away. When she saw Sybil she became more civil, but still behaved in a covertly insolent manner. Sybil grew angry.

"You have behaved very wickedly in putting these ideas into Pearl's head, Mrs Jeal," she said severely. "The poor creature is not responsible. She does not understand."

"She understands more than you give her credit for, miss," retorted Mrs Jeal, coolly, "and she is not fit to be left alone. But when I go away I shall put her in an asylum."

"Indeed, you will do nothing of the sort!" cried Miss Tempest, indignantly. "The poor thing would die. Liberty is all in all to her.