that same afternoon raston notified the vicar that he was going for a few days to london. on the understanding that the young man would be back for morning service on sunday, the vicar readily consented that he should go. raston forthwith packed his bag, and driving to portfront stayed there the night. but for sybil's message he would have waited until the next day, and have gone directly to london without pausing on the way. however, he wished to have a talk with leo, both on account of sybil's message and because he wanted to consult with the young man about the letter which worried him. this entailed a long conversation, so raston put up at the hotel at which leo was staying, and sent a message that he wanted to see mr haverleigh.

leo made his appearance, looking haggard and worried, and very much unlike his usual self. he seemed nervous on seeing raston, and hurriedly approached him as though he expected to hear bad news. the events of the last few weeks had shaken leo's nerves, and he was prepared for any calamity—even to hear that pratt had been arrested. something of the sort he expected to hear now.

"hullo, raston!" he cried, with an affectation of brightness. "what brings you here?"

"i am on my way to london," said raston, shaking hands in a friendly fashion, "and i am staying here for the night, as i want to have a long talk with you."

"very glad," replied leo, mechanically. then after a pause he raised his head. "there is no bad news, i trust?" he asked anxiously.

"by no means. my news is good."

"then it cannot concern me," said leo, bitterly. "no good news ever comes my way now. what is it?"

"i'll tell you after dinner."

"no; tell me now! i can't wait. i am so anxious and worried that my mind cannot bear suspense."

"you brood too much on things," said raston. "however, the matter is very simple. miss tempest wants you to return at once to colester."

"what for? has her father discovered anything bad about me?"

raston laughed. "no. you are getting morbid on the subject—the result, i suppose, of your late experience of man's injustice. if you will sit down i will tell you what she asked me to say. it is a long story."

"an agreeable one, i hope," muttered leo, dropping dejectedly into a chair. "i really cannot bear much more worry without going to chuck myself into the water."

"haverleigh," said the curate, severely, "that is an ungrateful way to speak, after the mercy god has shown you. has he not brought you through much tribulation, and set your feet on a rock of safety!"

"well, there are two answers to that, raston. however, i'll try and behave myself while you tell me what sybil said."

raston sighed. not knowing leo's worry, he was beginning to think him wrong to behave as he did. still, this was not the time to preach, and, unlike most clergymen, raston knew where to stop. he sat down near leo and related the whole story of lord kilspindie and his loss. then he detailed sybil's idea that kilspindie might do something for the young man. "and if your future is arranged you can then be married."

"i shall never be married, raston," said leo, gloomily. "if you knew—but i must keep my own counsel. what takes you to london?" he asked suddenly. "you are such a home bird that there must be some strong reason."

"the very strongest," replied the curate, drawing a letter out of his pocket. "but first you must promise to hold your tongue about what i am going to tell you."

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 assurance. 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 passed 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 saturday."

"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 noble 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 god 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. god 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. when are you going away?"

"i go with sir frank hale, miss. i am going to be the maid of his sister."

"i heard sir frank was leaving colester," said sybil, coldly, "and i think it is the best thing he can do. when does he go, mrs jeal?"

"in a week, miss. i have got a good situation, miss, and i do not want to be burdened with pearl. she must go to an asylum."

"no, no! i shall take charge of her myself," said sybil. "you leave her to me, mrs jeal, and i'll look after her."

"well, i might, miss; i'll see." then, after a pause, mrs jeal asked, "about that gentleman at your place, miss—will he stay long?"

"only till the end of the week. i suppose you mean lord kilspindie?"

mrs jeal's wicked eyes blazed. "yes, i mean him," she said, and gave an unpleasant laugh. "oh! so he goes at the end of the week! well, miss, before i take up my situation with miss hale, i'll come and see you about pearl. if you could take her i should be glad, but you'll find her a nuisance."

"i don't think so," said sybil, coldly. "when will you call?"

"after the departure of lord kilspindie," said mrs jeal, with another wicked look, and went into the house. sybil departed, wondering why the woman had asked about lord kilspindie, and why she seemed afraid to meet him. had she been clever enough, she might have guessed the truth. as it was the matter passed out of her mind.

after this there were some very pleasant evenings at the vicarage. leo felt almost happy, in spite of his troubles. he could not as yet bring himself to tell sybil that he could never marry her. besides, he was hoping against hope that raston would bring back some good news from london. not, indeed, that he (leo haverleigh) was the lost son of lord kilspindie—that such good fortune should be his never entered leo's head—but that pratt was not his father. leo felt that he would rather be proved to be illegitimate, as mrs gabriel had told the vicar he was, than have such a father as the criminal, pratt. yet, at times he felt sorry for the man. it was certain that he had in him some good qualities. but whenever leo thought of him as his father, he became enraged against him. the thing was too horrible.

lord kilspindie took wonderfully to leo, and this the vicar was pleased to see. owing to leo's want of an honest name, he could not bring himself to consent to the marriage, so he hoped that the scotch lord might take a fancy to the young man and carry him off. thus sybil would be safe, and leo would be provided for. mr tempest had evidently forgotten his own youth, or he would have remembered that loving hearts are not so easily severed. leo and sybil loved one another too well for aught to come between them.

on saturday night raston returned. it was so late that leo had not expected him, so they did not meet until the next morning. then it was on the way to church.

"well," leo asked eagerly, "and what does my—what does pratt say?"

"i'll tell you after service," said raston, hastily. "at present i can't think of these things."

"but one word, raston," urged leo. "is pratt my father?"

"no," replied the curate, emphatically, "he is not." and before leo could ask another question he ran off. filled with joy at the intelligence, but much bewildered, leo went to church to offer up thanks.

kilspindie was also in church, and with sybil, in the vicar's pew. mr tempest allowed raston to preach, as had been arranged, and took a very minor part in the service. indeed, he did little else but read the lessons. the church was filled, as everyone was anxious to see lord kilspindie. mrs bathurst was there, wondering if his lordship could be induced to marry peggy. she quite forgot that she had promised her daughter's hand to the curate, and was already scheming to get at the old nobleman. that he was old did not matter to mrs bathurst. she would have sold her daughter to anyone, provided the match was a good one. and, curious to say, she would have considered that she had done her duty as a mother. her moral nature was decidedly warped.

the service was almost over, and the church-wardens were handing round the bags for the collection when a sweet voice was heard singing in the distance. everyone recognised the voice—it was pearl's—and the vicar, kneeling at the communion table, looked rather disturbed. he knew the eccentric ways of the girl, and he feared lest she might come in and distract the attention of the congregation. and his fears were fulfilled—pearl, still singing, entered the church. the scandalised church-wardens would have kept her out, but that she bore something which made them open their eyes. the congregation also became aware of pearl's burden, and a gasp of astonishment went round. still singing some wild, vague melody, the mad girl walked slowly up the aisle, bearing the sacred cup.

lord kilspindie did not see her until she was almost at the chancel steps. he then gave a cry of astonishment, in spite of the building and the occasion. surely he might have been pardoned, for the fairy cup upon which depended the fortunes of the grants glittered before his eyes. there was a dead silence. everyone was too astonished to speak or move. the vicar himself was staring from the communion table at this miracle. but raston, who had come down to receive the collection, stood quietly waiting till the girl reached him. she came up singing, placed the great gold cup in his hand and fell on her knees.

"the master has forgiven pearl," she said in a voice which could be heard all over the church. "she is saved and the cup will be here to watch over for ever and ever. amen. amen." and she bowed her face in her hands.

raston paused for a moment in hesitation and glanced at the vicar, then at lord kilspindie. then he made up his mind, and walking up to the altar, placed the cup in its old position. and there it glittered, all gold and gems, with the sunlight striking down on it, until it became almost too glorious to look upon. lord kilspindie stared, with tears in his eyes. the cup would be his again and he would soon have his son. he never doubted but that the restoration of the one was the prelude to the discovery of the other.

raston pronounced the benediction and the organ broke forth into jubilant music. shortly the congregation streamed out. everyone was much excited. the old nobleman came out with sybil, and they waited at the porch for the vicar. leo also was with them.

suddenly a woman broke through the crowd in the churchyard. it was mrs jeal, and she was seeking pearl. in her haste she never noticed lord kilspindie, until she almost ran into his arms. suddenly he saw her face, started, and made one stride forward to clutch her by the arm.

"the cup and then the heir!" he said loudly, while all looked on amazed. "janet grant, where is my son, lord morven!"