"Dear Marton,—So you have let me slip through your fingers again. Is it not about time that you stopped setting your wits against mine? Several times you have tried; but always you have been beaten. Really, you must take lessons in the art of thief-catching, if you want to deserve the reputation you possess."I am bound to say that but for the fog I should have been caught. But, thanks to its friendly shelter, I ran back to my house, while you were blundering about like a lost sheep, and warned Adam. I knewyou would have to get Raston to show you the way, and would be some time. Still, I knew your infernal pertinacity, and made myself as scarce as possible in a very short space of time. I should like to have seen your face when you came to my house and found your prey had escaped."I packed up my jewels, which I always keep prepared for such an emergency as this, and, dressing myself warmly, I mounted my bicycle. Adam, who had likewise made his preparations, mounted another, and we both went down the main road. In spite of the mist there was no difficulty. The highway runs in a straight line to Portfront, and there was no vehicle abroad to make our travelling dangerous. We did not hurry, but took our time, as I did not wish to get to Portfront before the steamer went. As a matter of fact we did, but hung about the outskirts of the town until it was time to be aboard. Of course I do not need to tell you how I stopped you from communicating with the Portfront police. I suggested the idea, and Adam climbed the pole to cut the telegraph wire."We had a very pleasant trip as far as Bognor, where we got on the train, and stopped at some station, the name of which I need not tell you. We are now in London in very comfortable circumstances. If you are clever enough to find me—which I don't think you are—I promise to give myself up as soon as you appear. But there is no chance of my seeing you. Better remain in Colester, my dear Marton, and turn farmer. It is all you are fit for. Upon my honour it is."One thing I should like to know. How the devil did you manage to find out my retreat? I never thought you had it in you. I went to see Raston on some business likely to enhance my popularity in the parish, and I dropped across you! For the first time in my life I was taken aback. Was it design or accident that I found you there? I do not wish to compliment you undeservedly."Well, you have driven me away, and I must find a new place in which to pass my old age. It is too bad of you, Marton! On my soul, too bad! I was getting so popular in Colester. Now, I suppose, everyone of the honest men are swearing at me. Yet I never robbed them."One other thing. If you came down to investigate that robbery of the cup I presented to the church, you can spare yourself the trouble. I stole it myself. It went to my heart to lose so valuable an object, and I was sorry when I had given it. I could not ask for it back, so I resolved to steal it. I went to the church, and, as I am a small man, I climbed in through the lepers' window. I got the cup, climbed out again, and went back to my house. Then I was afraid lest the cup would be seen by chance, and all my popularity would go. I therefore resolved to pawn it. That is a way I have kept safe many a piece of jewellery. I could not go myself, but I sent Adam. He is rather like Leo Haverleigh, and so that fool of a Mrs Jeal made the mistake. You need not look for the cup in Battersea now, as I have redeemed it. I took the ticket from Adam, and went myself. It is now in mypossession, again, and I do not intend to part with it any more. You know how fond I am of beautiful things, dear Marton."Well, I daresay you guessed that I stole the cup. Here is my confession, and you can tell all those fools at Colester, including the vicar, that Leo Haverleigh is perfectly innocent. He has not enough brains to steal anything. I only took back my own, and I am proud of it, as I have bamboozled the lot of you—clever Mr Marton included!"Leo got the money with which he paid his debts from Sir Frank Hale. You can ask him—Hale, I mean. If he denies it, I leave him to you, as you are clever enough to get the truth out of him. He wants to marry Sybil Tempest, and desires Leo to marry his sister Edith. All this was a plot to get Leo into his power, and force him to do what was wanted. I hope you will punish the young man Hale. He is a cripple, and has all the spite of one. I should have punished him myself, but you have deprived me of that pleasure. I therefore call upon you to do your best."And now, my dear Marton, good-bye. Give my love to all the mourning population of Colester, and especially to Mrs Gabriel, my dear and life-long friend. I am afraid she will not get her rent. Also I had the house re-decorated at her expense. The bills will be sent in to her. Let her pay them with my blessing. I will write to Leo myself, and give him my blessing. I have much to say to him that will be of no interest to you. He is a good fellow, and I wish to see him marriedto Sybil. He will be some day. I can manage her fool of a father even at a distance."Now, I hope you will look after yourself, for my sake, Marton. So long as the Scotland Yard idiots keep you on my track, I am safe. If you died, they might perhaps pick a clever man, dangerous to me, my friend. So, with all kind regards and best wishes until we meet.—Believe me, my dear failure, yours never—in the flesh,"Richard Pratt."
"Dear Marton,—So you have let me slip through your fingers again. Is it not about time that you stopped setting your wits against mine? Several times you have tried; but always you have been beaten. Really, you must take lessons in the art of thief-catching, if you want to deserve the reputation you possess.
"I am bound to say that but for the fog I should have been caught. But, thanks to its friendly shelter, I ran back to my house, while you were blundering about like a lost sheep, and warned Adam. I knewyou would have to get Raston to show you the way, and would be some time. Still, I knew your infernal pertinacity, and made myself as scarce as possible in a very short space of time. I should like to have seen your face when you came to my house and found your prey had escaped.
"I packed up my jewels, which I always keep prepared for such an emergency as this, and, dressing myself warmly, I mounted my bicycle. Adam, who had likewise made his preparations, mounted another, and we both went down the main road. In spite of the mist there was no difficulty. The highway runs in a straight line to Portfront, and there was no vehicle abroad to make our travelling dangerous. We did not hurry, but took our time, as I did not wish to get to Portfront before the steamer went. As a matter of fact we did, but hung about the outskirts of the town until it was time to be aboard. Of course I do not need to tell you how I stopped you from communicating with the Portfront police. I suggested the idea, and Adam climbed the pole to cut the telegraph wire.
"We had a very pleasant trip as far as Bognor, where we got on the train, and stopped at some station, the name of which I need not tell you. We are now in London in very comfortable circumstances. If you are clever enough to find me—which I don't think you are—I promise to give myself up as soon as you appear. But there is no chance of my seeing you. Better remain in Colester, my dear Marton, and turn farmer. It is all you are fit for. Upon my honour it is.
"One thing I should like to know. How the devil did you manage to find out my retreat? I never thought you had it in you. I went to see Raston on some business likely to enhance my popularity in the parish, and I dropped across you! For the first time in my life I was taken aback. Was it design or accident that I found you there? I do not wish to compliment you undeservedly.
"Well, you have driven me away, and I must find a new place in which to pass my old age. It is too bad of you, Marton! On my soul, too bad! I was getting so popular in Colester. Now, I suppose, everyone of the honest men are swearing at me. Yet I never robbed them.
"One other thing. If you came down to investigate that robbery of the cup I presented to the church, you can spare yourself the trouble. I stole it myself. It went to my heart to lose so valuable an object, and I was sorry when I had given it. I could not ask for it back, so I resolved to steal it. I went to the church, and, as I am a small man, I climbed in through the lepers' window. I got the cup, climbed out again, and went back to my house. Then I was afraid lest the cup would be seen by chance, and all my popularity would go. I therefore resolved to pawn it. That is a way I have kept safe many a piece of jewellery. I could not go myself, but I sent Adam. He is rather like Leo Haverleigh, and so that fool of a Mrs Jeal made the mistake. You need not look for the cup in Battersea now, as I have redeemed it. I took the ticket from Adam, and went myself. It is now in mypossession, again, and I do not intend to part with it any more. You know how fond I am of beautiful things, dear Marton.
"Well, I daresay you guessed that I stole the cup. Here is my confession, and you can tell all those fools at Colester, including the vicar, that Leo Haverleigh is perfectly innocent. He has not enough brains to steal anything. I only took back my own, and I am proud of it, as I have bamboozled the lot of you—clever Mr Marton included!
"Leo got the money with which he paid his debts from Sir Frank Hale. You can ask him—Hale, I mean. If he denies it, I leave him to you, as you are clever enough to get the truth out of him. He wants to marry Sybil Tempest, and desires Leo to marry his sister Edith. All this was a plot to get Leo into his power, and force him to do what was wanted. I hope you will punish the young man Hale. He is a cripple, and has all the spite of one. I should have punished him myself, but you have deprived me of that pleasure. I therefore call upon you to do your best.
"And now, my dear Marton, good-bye. Give my love to all the mourning population of Colester, and especially to Mrs Gabriel, my dear and life-long friend. I am afraid she will not get her rent. Also I had the house re-decorated at her expense. The bills will be sent in to her. Let her pay them with my blessing. I will write to Leo myself, and give him my blessing. I have much to say to him that will be of no interest to you. He is a good fellow, and I wish to see him marriedto Sybil. He will be some day. I can manage her fool of a father even at a distance.
"Now, I hope you will look after yourself, for my sake, Marton. So long as the Scotland Yard idiots keep you on my track, I am safe. If you died, they might perhaps pick a clever man, dangerous to me, my friend. So, with all kind regards and best wishes until we meet.—Believe me, my dear failure, yours never—in the flesh,
"Richard Pratt."
"I have been much to blame," said the vicar. "I set myself up as a judge when I had no right to do so. Leo, you must forgive me."
"I forgive you freely," replied the young man, grasping the hand held out by Mr Tempest. "Appearances were against me, so it was little wonder that you did not entirely trust me. Still, Mr Tempest, you should have known me better than to think me guilty of such a crime."
"I know—I know I have been wrong."
"Well, let us drop the subject. My character is now clear, and I have no wish to recall a very disagreeable past."
This conversation took place in the study of Mr Tempest, and in the presence of Sybil and Marton. The detective had shown the vicar the insolent but welcome letter he had received from Pratt. The confession therein entirely exonerated Leo, and he could again hold up his head. He and Mr Tempest were quite reconciled. Sybil, with her hand in Leo's, looked thoroughly happy.
"Inever lost faith in you, Leo!" she said. "Sooner or later I knew that all would be well."
"I have to thank Marton for the clearing of my character, Sybil."
"Faith, you are wrong there!" said Marton, smiling. "I thought you were innocent; but as I had not looked into the case, I saw no means of proving it. Had not Pratt sent this confession I should still be in the dark. He is a scoundrel, but he is a good friend to you, Haverleigh!"
"I don't agree with you," said Tempest, sharply, for he was still sore on the subject of the cup. "Pratt knew that Leo was suspected, and he should have come forward long ere this to put the matter right."
"You ask too much from a man of Pratt's nature," said Marton, dryly. "It is wonderful that he should have confessed his guilt even at the eleventh hour. However, this closes the case, and I can go back to London. We know now who stole the cup, and we know also that it cannot be recovered. Pratt will stick to it this time. It was only his vanity and desire for popularity that made him give it away in the first instance."
"If it came back to me I should never accept it," said the vicar, emphatically. "A stolen cup should never have been put to sacred uses. I wonder at the daring of the man!"
"Oh! a man like Pratt is capable of anything," said Marton, with a shrug. "But you will never see him again, Mr Tempest. And now, Mr Haverleigh, I think you should see Sir Frank Hale and make him confess that he lent you the money."
"There will be no difficulty about that," repliedLeo. "Hale told only two people that he repudiated all knowledge of the loan. One was my aunt, the other myself. He is too cunning to tell the world the untruth he told us. Besides, my character being cleared, he can have no further hold over me. I fear he will be angry."
"I am certain he will. Let us see him together."
Leo was quite willing to do this, so after taking a fond leave of Sybil, and a cordial one of her father, he set out with the detective to bring Sir Frank Hale to his bearings. On the way Marton asked Leo's permission to touch upon a delicate subject. Haverleigh told him to speak freely. "I owe you too much to take offence at anything you may say," he observed. "You have been my very good friend, Marton."
"Oh, that's all right," replied the detective, brightly; "and I really do not deserve your thanks. Any help I have given you has been purely accidental. If Pratt had held his tongue, you would still have been in the same position as before. But I am bound to say, Haverleigh, that even before the arrival of this letter Mr Tempest expressed his belief in your innocence."
"I am glad of that," said Leo. "He treated me badly, and it is a pleasure to me to hear that his own good sense told him I was innocent before he had the actual proof. I am anxious to stand well with him, Marton."
"Ah! That is the matter I wish to discuss. I see that you and Miss Tempest are much attached to oneanother. Do you think the vicar will consent to the marriage?"
"I really can't say. Even before this scandal he seemed to be displeased with me, and kept me away from his house as much as possible. He did not want to see me, and he would not let me see Sybil. We had to meet by stealth. Now he may have changed his mind."
"And if he has? What, then?"
"Then I can announce my engagement to Sybil," said Leo. "But, you see, I am not in a position to marry, and may not be for a long time. I have to make my way in the world, and to make money also. I thought of enlisting for this war, and of fighting my way through the ranks to a commission."
"Even then I do not see how you could marry. You might gain a commission, but not money. Until your worldly prospects are more secure, I do not think you should engage yourself to Miss Tempest."
"That is straight speaking, Marton."
"You gave me permission to speak out. I like you, Haverleigh, and after the trouble you have come through I think you should be rewarded by getting your heart's desire. But if you love Miss Temple, you will not marry her until you can give her a comfortable home. Even if you are successful in South Africa, a baggage waggon is not the place for a delicate girl. You can offer her nothing better than that."
"True enough. I admit that what you say is correct. But what am I to do?"
"Well," said the detective, after a pause, "it seemsto me that you have some claim upon your aunt. She took charge of you and brought you up. I understand she intimated that you would be her heir, and you received an education to fit you for the position. If she intended to send you adrift as shehasdone, she should at least have had you taught some profession or trade whereby you could earn your bread and butter. Yes; I think you have a right to demand some assistance from her."
Leo shook his head and flushed. "I can't bring myself to do that," he said in a low voice. "She has insulted me so deeply that it goes against my nature to eat humble pie. I would rather make my own way in the world. As to Sybil, I shall not ask her to engage herself to me until—as you say—I can offer her a home."
"You can do nothing but enlist, I suppose?"
"No. Soldiering is all I am fit for. Now that my name has been cleared I will bid farewell to Sybil and enlist straight away. She will wait for me, I am certain. I get my commission I can perhaps see my way to make her my wife. If I am shot—well," Leo shrugged his shoulders, "there is an end to all things."
"Haverleigh!" said Marton, after a pause. "Will you tell me what reason your aunt has for disliking you so much?"
"I don't know. She has always been stern and hard with me. Lately she has openly hated me. That is why I left her."
"There is something connected with you that is wrong?"
"Not to my knowledge. I have been foolish, but not wilfully wicked."
"I know that. But Mrs Gabriel knows something—it may be about your parents—that has prejudiced the vicar against you. It was her influence that made him turn against you. He admitted as much to me. But he refused to say what she had told him."
"I guessed all this," said Leo, quietly; "but what can I do?"
"Insist upon knowing what has been said. You have a right to. If the vicar will not speak out—and he has given his word not to—Mrs Gabriel may be forced to do so. Were I you, Haverleigh, I should see her and insist upon an explanation."
"She won't give it."
"I should force it out of her," said Marton, determinedly. "Oh! I know she is a hard woman, but if you persevere she must give way."
Leo thought for a few moments. "Well, Marton," he said at length, "I will see the vicar first and speak to him on the subject of Sybil. From what he says I may see the reason of his attitude towards me. Then I can call upon Mrs Gabriel. You may be sure I shall do my best."
Marton nodded, but said no more for the present, as by this time they were at the door of Hale's house. A demure servant opened the door and took in their names. Shortly she ushered them into a room where Sir Frank was seated in a chair by the window reading to his sister. Edith Hale looked pale and ill. She lay on a sofa, but started up and blushed rosy red whenshe saw Leo. There was no doubt that the poor girl was deeply in love with the young man. Leo, in the kindness of his heart, felt a pang. It seemed to him that he was treating her cruelly, although the position was none of his making.
"Good-day!" said Hale, without rising, and including Leo and Marton in one swift glance. "I am surprised to see you, Haverleigh. I thought you did not care about keeping up my acquaintance."
Leo would have replied sharply, but as Edith was present he cast a meaning glance in her direction. "I should like to speak with you alone," he said, "that is, in the presence of Mr Marton."
Before Hale could reply Marton interposed. "Wait a bit," he said in his smooth voice, and with a glance at the girl. "There is something to be said first in the presence of Miss Hale."
"In my presence!" she exclaimed turning red, while her brother scowled.
"Yes. Something you will be pleased to hear. You both know that Mr Haverleigh has been accused of stealing this chapel cup."
"I never believed it, never!" cried Edith, eagerly, and Leo gave her a look of gratitude, which made her turn pale with emotion.
"And you, Sir Frank?"
Hale shrugged his shoulders. "I never thought much about the subject," he said, the lie coming at once to his practised lips. "The evidence was against Haverleigh, I admit; but I tried to think the best of him."
"Your speech is rather contradictory, Sir Frank," was the dry response of Marton. "But I think you must have thought well of Haverleigh or you would not have helped him out of his difficulty by lending him money."
"Oh, Frank, did you do that?" cried Edith, taking her brother's hand. "I love you for it. How good you are!"
Hale's face grew blacker and blacker. Had he been alone he would have lied, but in the presence of the sister he loved so deeply he could not bring himself to deny the truth. Moreover, he had a kind of instinctive feeling that Marton had come to proclaim the innocence of Leo, else why should he come at all? His plot of getting Leo into his power had failed—he was clever enough to see that—so it only remained for him to retreat with as much dignity as possible.
"I was only too glad to help Haverleigh," he said quietly, and with marked courtesy. "He was in debt, and the three hundred pounds I gave him was of some use, I believe. I beg that he will say no more on the subject."
"How good you are—how good you are!" gasped Edith, caressing her brother. Leo and Marton glanced at one another. Hale's masterly retreat took them both by surprise. When Leo remembered the conversation in the chapel he could hardly believe his ears. The only thing to be done was to beat the man with his own weapons.
"I will say no more, Hale, save that when I am ablethe money shall be repaid. I thank you heartily for your kindness."
Sir Frank bit his lip, but summoned up sufficient dignity to be gracious. He and Leo were both wearing masks for the benefit of Edith. "Pay the money when you like," he said, sitting up. "I am shortly going abroad with my sister, and I do not think we shall see one another for a long time. However, my solicitor at Portfront will attend to the matter of the loan."
"Then there reallywasa loan," said Marton, determined to get the plain truth out of Hale in the presence of witnesses.
"Certainly. I gave Leo three hundred pounds in gold. I have already said so."
"And it was with that loan he paid his debts?" pursued Marion.
"Yes," said Leo, seeing his drift, "I paid them with that money. But the good people here declared that I sold the cup to pay them!"
"How could they! How could they!" muttered Edith.
"Because they are fools," cried Sir Frank, seeing that he was completely beaten. "For my part, I never believed that Haverleigh did such a thing!"
"Thank you," said Leo, inwardly smiling at the lie.
"Then you will be delighted to hear that the thief has been found."
As Marton spoke Hale suddenly turned pale, androse with an effort. "The thief has been—found!" he stammered.
"Yes," replied Marton, with a swift glance, thinking at once of his theory of a conspiracy. "It seems that this man Angel—I beg your pardon, you know him as Pratt—stole the cup."
"But it was Mr Pratt who gave it!" cried Edith.
"Quite so, Miss Hale. Afterwards he was sorry that his generosity had led him to make so great a sacrifice. Therefore he stole what he had bestowed."
"And what about this story of Mrs Jeal?" asked Hale, trying to be amiable.
"Oh! that was part of the business, Sir Frank. Pratt thought the cup would be seen here, even if he kept it in his house. So he sent it up to London to be pawned for safe keeping. You do not understand why this should be done. But then you have never come into contact with a man like Pratt. However, for reasons I need not explain, he pawned the cup. His servant Adam is rather like Mr Haverleigh, and it was thus that Mrs Jeal, not having a clear view, made a mistake. You understand, Sir Frank?"
"Quite," replied Hale in a strangled voice. He was pale and anxious-looking. Leo thought that this was anger at his escape. But Marton took another and a more serious view.
"I am sure you are pleased that Haverleigh's character has been cleared."
"I am pleased—very—very pleased," said Edith, joyfully, "and so is Frank. Are you not, Frank?"
"Yes! very pleased." Hale forced himself to sayso much; then he walked to the door. "I am not well," he said, turning for a moment; "you will excuse me, gentlemen. My sister will see you out. If you—" He paused, and darting a look of hatred at Leo, left the room. Haverleigh was more surprised than Marton, who had captured a fresh idea, and was already building up a theory.
Leo remained only a short time. He was most embarrassed by the looks of Edith, and escaped as speedily as courtesy permitted. When they left the house and were some distance on the road, Marton spoke. "I think there is insanity in that family," he said.
"Why do you think so?"
"The girl is queer. No woman in her sane senses would give herself away as she does. The brother is a cripple, and queer too. Never you marry into that lot, Haverleigh! They have some hereditary taint."
"I have no intention of marrying anyone but Sybil," said Leo, dryly; "but did you see how Hale backed out of his false position?"
"Yes; and I believe he has more to do with this matter than you think. I should not be at all surprised to find that he and Mrs Gabriel for some reason had been working together against you. Oh! there has been—there may be yet some conspiracy against you."
"I can understand Hale conspiring," said Leo; "he wants to marry Sybil, and wishes Edith to become my wife. But Mrs Gabriel, why should she?"
"We have yet to find that out," interrupted Marton. "Go and see what the vicar says. I must bealone for a time. I want to think the matter out. At all events, Hale has acknowledged that he lent you the money, in the presence of witnesses. You are all right in that quarter. I daresay he'll make another attempt to best you, though."
"Nonsense. Did you not hear him say that he was going abroad with his sister? I think he will leave me alone now."
"Perhaps," replied Marton, thoughtfully. "We'll see. I'll believe he is going abroad when he is across the Channel. I'm off for a long walk," and the detective set off at a brisk pace.
Leo thought no more about this especial matter, leaving it entirely to Marton. Forthwith he returned to the Vicarage, saw Mr Tempest, and then and there asked him if he objected to him as a suitor for Sybil. At this very direct question Mr Tempest wriggled and looked uncomfortable.
"You put a very painful question to me, Leo," he said, after a pause. "I am ashamed of myself for having thought so ill of you, and I should like to make amends, if possible. I know that you are attached to Sybil, but now that you are at variance with your aunt, I do not see that you are justified in asking me to consent to this engagement."
"I know what you mean," said Leo, proudly, "and I do not intend to engage myself until I am in a better position. All I ask is that you will not force Sybil to marry Hale when I am away."
"I should not let her marry Hale in any case!" cried the vicar, angrily. "I would never give mychild to a cripple. Moreover, the Hales are not so sane as they might be. And, Leo, I shall not force Sybil's inclinations in any way. She can remain unmarried all her life if she pleases."
"That is all I want," said Leo, gladly. "I am going to enlist, Mr Tempest, and if I get a commission there may be some chance of my asking Sybil to be my wife. She will be true to me while I am away; I know she will."
"Humph!" said the vicar, doubtfully. "A commission, eh?"
Leo interpreted his objection. "Then you have something against me personally," he said, "and for this reason you do not want me to think of Sybil in any way. What is the matter, Mr Tempest?"
"I can't tell you, Leo." The vicar looked directly at him. "So far as you are concerned, I do not wish for a better husband for my daughter, but Mrs Gabriel has informed me of something which makes me unwilling to countenance the marriage. Don't ask me what it is. I cannot tell you."
"I do not ask you to tell me, Mr Tempest. This very night I shall ask Mrs Gabriel herself what she has been saying."
"Better not," advised the vicar. "It will only cause you much distress."
Leo looked at him in astonishment. What could his aunt have been saying about him or his parents likely to make the vicar take so strong a view of the matter? "If there is anything wrong I have a right to know," he said at length. "I shall insist uponan explanation, Mr Tempest. If I discover any valid reason why I should give Sybil up, I am quite ready to yield. When you next see me, Mr Tempest, I shall either have given up the idea of marrying your daughter, or I shall insist upon marrying her in spite of you and Mrs Gabriel! You cannot say that I am treating you unfairly. I go now."
"But, my dear boy—" called out Mr Tempest, much distressed. He spoke to the empty air. Leo had already left the room and was out of the gate.
After leaving The Nun's House, Leo had taken up his residence at the Colester Arms. Marton was there also, and Leo expected to see him at dinner. He was anxious to tell him what the vicar had said. But the detective did not return from his walk, and after waiting for him till close upon nine o'clock, Leo left the hotel and walked towards the castle to have it out with Mrs Gabriel.
The night was moonless, but there were many stars. Here and there a swathe of mist lay on the plains below; but up on the hills all was comparatively clear. Leo, who knew every inch of Colester, walked slowly out of the town gate and crossed to the other hill. He took a narrow private path which he knew of, wishing to get unobserved to the castle. Just at the foot of this path he met Marton. The recognition was mutual.
"You are going to see Mrs Gabriel?" said the detective.
"Yes. Where have you been, Marton?"
"I have been trying to see her, but she is ill—atleast so the butler says. I suspect, however, this is a lie. She doesn't want to see me!"
"Shall I—"
"Yes, you go up. I must return to the hotel and get some dinner. I have been walking and thinking until I am worn out. I'll wait your return, and we can talk over the matter."
"What matter?"
"The conspiracy of Mrs Gabriel and Hale," said Marton, promptly. "Get on with you, Haverleigh. I'm off to dinner." And he went away at a quick pace, leaving Leo much astonished.
However, there was no use in standing and wondering, so he pursued his way. As Mrs Gabriel was said to be ill, and had denied herself to Marton, it was not unlikely that he would be treated in the same way. Therefore, instead of going to the front door, Leo went round the castle on to the terrace. This was shut off from the rest of the ground by a high fence with a gate in it. Leo had retained the key of this gate and had no difficulty in getting in. The room which looked on to the terrace was lighted, but the blinds were down. Leo peered in. He saw Mrs Gabriel seated in a chair. Standing near her was Mr Richard Pratt.
Leo was so surprised by this unexpected sight that for the moment he stood still. Then he made up his mind to interview the pair. Mrs Gabriel and Pratt evidently understood one another, and the two of them together might probably tell him more about himself than one would do. Moreover, Leo was angry at the way in which Pratt had let him lie under the imputation of being a thief when he could have lifted the disgrace from off his shoulders. Certainly Pratt could have done so only at the risk of incriminating himself, but at the time Leo was too much annoyed to think of this. He saw that there was some mystery, and thinking it might have to do with Mrs Gabriel's enmity towards himself, he interrupted what seemed to be a furious conversation by knocking at the window.
Mrs Gabriel and Pratt turned in the direction where the sound came, she with a pale face, and Pratt with a levelled revolver which he took from his breast pocket. Leo might have been in danger of his life, but that he chanced to remember a peculiar tune which Pratt had taught him, in order to announce his coming while he was staying at The Nun's House. At the time Leo had thought this was only a freak of theold man's, but now that he knew who Pratt was, he saw that there was use in it, to Pratt if not to himself. At all events, he began to whistle.
Hardly had he got through the first few bars before Pratt's watchful attitude relaxed, and he tossed the revolver on to the table. Mrs Gabriel still continued to look agitated, but Pratt stepped towards the window and opened it coolly.
"I knew it was you," he said, pulling Leo into the room and shutting the window. "It is a lucky thing you remembered my signal, else I might have drilled a hole in you. You come at a happy moment." Here he stopped and looked suspiciously at the young man. "Have you that infernal Marton with you?" he asked, with a glance at the window and a movement towards the revolver.
"No, no," replied Leo, hastily. "I am all alone."
"That's a good thing," said Pratt, grimly. "I won't be taken alive, I promise you. But I knew you would not give me away. I said so to Mrs Gabriel. She said you would—speaking the worst of you as usual."
Leo was too much taken aback by the discovery that Pratt was in the castle to reply immediately. Moreover, the man was so cool and composed that he felt as though he were in the wrong. He tried to collect his scattered thoughts, but before he could open his mouth Mrs Gabriel spoke in her usual domineering tones.
"What are you doing here, Leo?" she asked. "How did you get on to the terrace? No one can get on without the key of the gate."
"I happen to have the key," said Leo, showing it. "You gave it to me yourself some years ago. When I left you I took it with me by mistake. It has come in useful to-night. You may thank your stars, both of you, that I did not bring Marton back with me. He left me at the foot of the hill with a story that you were ill, Mrs Gabriel."
"Leo," said Pratt in an agitated tone, "surely you would not have brought the man here to get me into trouble?"
"I did not know you were here," said Haverleigh, carelessly, for he was still angered at the man.
"I have been here ever since the night I fled from Raston's house. It was Adam who went on to London and cut the wire."
"And the letter in which you said you had stolen the cup?"
"I wrote that here and posted it to Adam that he might send it from London. Mrs Gabriel helped me to hide. No one knows that I am in this house save herself, and now you are a sharer in our secret."
"It must be difficult to keep your presence here a secret from the servants," said Leo, wondering how the man had forced Mrs Gabriel to help.
Here the lady herself interfered. "It is not difficult at all," she said in her most offensive tones. "You know nothing of what you are talking about. Pratt is up in the tower room, and I take him food myself from my own meals. It is impossible that anyone can guess."
"Well, my dear aunt," said Haverleigh, emphatically,"I know that Pratt is here. I think, therefore, you had better behave towards me in a more civil manner."
"Ha!" scoffed Mrs Gabriel, folding her arms and looking defiant. "You would not dare to state the truth."
"How do you know that?" said Leo, dryly. "Pratt is wanted by the law. He committed a theft here and allowed me to lie under suspicion. Why should I not give him up and accuse you of being an accessory to his concealment?"
Mrs Gabriel frowned and her black eyes flashed, but Pratt, who had taken a seat, did not move. He merely laughed. "I don't think you will give away, Leo," he said. "I admit that Mrs Gabriel is enough to irritate a saint; but if you punish her you punish me also."
"And you deserve punishment," retorted Leo.
"Probably I do; but I have my own opinion of the matter. All I ask you to do is to hold your tongue until such a time as I can get away."
"When are you going away?"
"Soon, I hope," cried Mrs Gabriel, spitefully. "I am rather tired of having a jail-bird in my house."
"Oh! you refer to that American affair," said Pratt, airily. "I had quite forgotten it. Well, my dear lady, I do not intend to burden you with my presence after to-morrow. By this time no one will be watching for me hereabouts, as I am supposed to be in London. I shall go to-morrow night and return to my London quarters, where Adam awaits me. Bythe way, Haverleigh, has that fool of a detective gone?"
"He is going to-morrow," said Leo in a surly tone.
"All the better. We can travel to London together. Ah, you smile, my dear Leo, but I assure you that if I chose to travel with Marton I should do so. I can disguise myself so effectively that evenhewould not know me. It is not the first time I have baffled him."
"Look here, Mr Pratt, or whatever you choose to call yourself," said the young man, calmly, "you have been kind to me in your own way, and I do not want to take advantage of your present unfortunate position. At the same time, you are a thief and a criminal, and I want to have nothing to do with you. Mrs Gabriel may approve of your company, but I do not wish to have you for a friend. I shall hold my tongue, but I recommend you to leave this place as soon as possible."
Mrs Gabriel glared at Leo, as she could ill brook his references to herself. She half rose as though she would have flown at him, but a glance from Pratt quelled her, and she sat down with more meekness than could have been expected from such a redoubtable termagant. Pratt, still keeping his temper, turned to Leo. "It is very good of you to interest yourself in my movements," he said in silky tones, "but I can look after myself. It is a grief, my dear fellow, a great grief, that I should be compelled to leave this neighbourhood. I like the place, and the people arefairly agreeable. I was nicely settled in The Nun's House, and—"
"Surrounded with stolen goods," interrupted Leo, wrathfully.
Pratt sighed. "I had some charming things," he said; "how I shall miss them! I am too old to make another such collection. I suppose they have all returned to the people I took them from, I fear the stupid creatures will not appreciate them as I have done."
Pratt's impudence was so consummate that Leo could not help laughing, but Mrs Gabriel rose in a black fury and shook her fist in the man's face. "How dare you boast of your iniquities in my house?" she cried.
"In your house, my dear lady?" queried Pratt, blandly. Mrs Gabriel got very white and sat down again. Apparently Pratt had some power over her, which she was afraid he might use. Leo had never seen the woman so cowed.
"Well, well," continued Pratt, stretching his legs; "I have to go, thanks to that wretched man Marton. How was it he appeared so unexpectedly?"
"Raston sent for him to London to find out who committed the robbery."
"Ah!" Pratt laughed. "I hope Mr Marton is satisfied now. My letter should have pleased him."
"It pleased me more," said Leo, bluntly; "my name is now clear! And you will be glad to hear," he added, turning to Mrs Gabriel, "that Hale, in the presence of Marton and his sister, confessed that helent me the money. I am afraid your plot against me has failed, my dear aunt."
"Hold your tongue!" said Mrs Gabriel, angrily.
"No. The time has passed for that. I am no longer in your power. I intend to make my own way in the world."
"With assistance from Mrs Gabriel," said Pratt, quietly. "She will start you with a thousand pounds, my dear Leo."
"I won't give one penny," said Mrs Gabriel, glaring. "You can do your very worst, Pratt. I have been your milch cow long enough."
"I would not take anything from her," said Leo, interposing; "and I'll thank you, Mr Pratt, to leave my affairs alone. If you will persist in meddling with them, I shall not keep my promise of silence."
"Oh, yes, you will!" chimed in Pratt, fixing him with his eye. "You dare not betray me, Leo."
"Darenot!" echoed the young man, angrily.
"Not unless you want to be called an unnatural son, my boy!" Leo stared, not taking in the meaning of this speech. "For you are my son, Leo," added Pratt in low tones, his eyes never leaving Haverleigh's face.
"Your—your—Great Heavens!"
Mrs Gabriel burst into a taunting laugh. "Ah, you know it at last!" she cried triumphantly. "And he has told you after threatening me with all sorts of things to keep me silent."
"It's—it's not true!" gasped Leo.
"It is perfectly true," said the woman, jeeringly."You are the son of the cleverest thief in the three kingdoms."
"Hold your tongue, you hag!" shouted Pratt, angrily, for Leo was as white as ashes and his face wore an expression of terrible agony.
"I won't be quiet. You told him yourself, and now he shall know all—as the vicar does," finished Mrs Gabriel, laughing fiercely.
Leo started to his feet. "Sybil!" he cried out, staring at his enemy. "I know now why the vicar will not let me marry her. You—you—"
"Told him you were an illegitimate son," said Mrs Gabriel, rapidly. "I did not say who was your father, but now that Pratt's true character is known I shall tell Tempest everything. Then we shall see if he will let you speak to Sybil again."
"You dare say a word, Mrs Gabriel, and I—"
But the woman was not to be stopped. She turned like a fury on Pratt, who had risen angrily. "Hold your tongue," she said savagely; "I have had about enough of you and your precious son. You made me take him to my home and tell everyone that he was the son of my dead brother. A lie, as you well know. And you," she added, turning on Haverleigh, "you know now why I have hated you all these years. That man knows a secret of mine and he forced me to do his bidding. I took you here. I brought you up, I gave you money, and I let you take a position to which you were not entitled. Position!" Mrs Gabriel laughed scornfully. "Your position should be in the gutter,where you were born. You are no kith or kin of mine, thank God!"
"And I do thank God," said Leo, vehemently. "You are a bad, evil-minded woman. Although my father is a thief, I would rather be his son than connected with you in any way. For years you have made my life a hell on earth with your vile temper. Terrible as is what you have told me, I prefer the thief to the righteous woman."
The mistress of the castle recoiled aghast before this outbreak of anger. Never had the usually good-tempered young man spoken so fiercely to her. As he advanced towards her she believed that he was going to strike her, and put up her arm with a look of terror in her eyes. For once the bully was cowed.
"Bravo, my boy!" cried Pratt, laughing at her discomfiture, and clapping Leo on the back. The young man started away.
"Don't touch me," he said harshly. "Is it not enough that I should have the shame of being your son, but that you should approve of any action I do? But I do not believe that you are my father. Where is the proof?"
"In London," said Pratt, very quietly, and wincing at the tone of Leo's speech. "If you come with me to London I can show you sufficient proof to make you believe."
"My mother?" Leo, with a sudden thought, cast a look at Mrs Gabriel.
"Iam not your mother," she said scornfully."Didn't I say there was no blood of mine in your veins?"
"Your mother is dead, Leo," said Pratt in a low voice.
Mrs Gabriel laughed insultingly. "And I daresay she was some—"
"If you dare to say another word," growled Pratt, casting a bitter look at her, "I'll give your secret to the world."
"I don't care if you do," retorted Mrs Gabriel; but Leo saw that she quailed. What could she have done to give a man like Pratt—he could not call him father—a power over her?
"Youdocare," said Pratt, quietly; "but if you don't I'll begin by telling Leo. Here goes. Leo, my son—"
In a moment Mrs Gabriel's defiant attitude became one of supplication. She sprang forward and caught Pratt by the arm. "Don't! don't," she said faintly. "I'll do whatever you wish."
"Will you dare to speak again as you have done?"
"No, no; I know you are the stronger. I could kill you," she muttered, with a flash of her old temper. "But I have to give in—I have to!"
"Well," drawled Pratt, taking a pleasure in bringing her to her knees, a position to which she was quite unaccustomed. "You have persecuted my poor son so that I think he should have something to hold over your head. It would serve you right."
"I don't want to know your wicked secrets," saidLeo, very pale, but otherwise calm. "It seems to me that you are an evil couple. And I—Heaven help me!—have a father who is a thief."
"What of that!" said Mrs Gabriel, getting angry again. "You are a thief as well, are you not? The cup—"
"I did not steal it," said Leo, proudly. "You know as well as I do that this—this"—he winced—"father of mine took it away from the chapel."
"That is just where you are wrong. He did not—"
"Mrs Gabriel!" Pratt's voice sounded dangerous. She was quiet at once, and looked at him in a frightened way. But Leo had heard enough to arouse his suspicions. He turned on Pratt and seized him by the arm.
"Have you been telling a lie?" muttered the unhappy young man.
His father shook him off. "It's no use telling another one," he said in a dogged way; "now you know so much you may as well know all. I know nothing about the cup; but, to clear you, I took the blame on myself. You see, Leo," he said calmly, "my character is already so bad that a robbery more or less does not matter. I did it for you, my boy, as I have done everything else. I wanted you to be a gentleman and marry the girl of your heart. Sybil loves you, and I thought when the vicar knew you were innocent that he would let you marry her."
"He might have done so," said Leo, sitting down in absolute despair; "but since Mrs Gabriel told himthat I was illegitimate, he has never been the same. He is a proud man."
"Too proud to let the son of a thief marry his child!" taunted the woman.
"He doesn't know that Leo is my son," said Pratt, fiercely.
"I intend to tell him as soon as you are away," she said.
"You will do nothing of the sort," said Pratt in a slow, venomous way which made her shrink back. "By speaking to the vicar and telling a lie you have caused trouble enough. He must know no more."
"I didnottell a lie."
"You did. My son was born in lawful wedlock."
"Then why didn't you bring him up yourself?" said Mrs Gabriel, with a sneer. "You gave him to me in London, and made me adopt him. I had to say that he was my nephew. Oh, how you have used me!"
"And I have not done using you. Hold your tongue, or it will be the worse for you. You know the power I have. I will not scruple to use it if you dare to do anything against my orders. Now, you can go. I want to speak to my son alone."
Mrs Gabriel seemed inclined to dispute this order, but a look from her tyrant cowed her. With a defiant flinging up of the head she walked out of the room, and closed the door.
"She will tell the servants," said Leo.
"Oh, no, she won't," said Pratt coolly. "You don't know the power I have over her. She will not dare."
"I don't want to know anything," said Leo, lookingdown on the ground, with folded arms. "I know quite enough. Are you speaking truly?"
Pratt met his gaze in a perfectly composed manner. "I am speaking the truth," he said; "you are my son, and your mother died two years after you were born. I was then in some danger from a—Well, no matter. To make a long story short, I wanted to procure a home for you where you would be brought up like a gentleman. Having a certain power over Mrs Gabriel, I fixed upon her, and made her tell the story of your being her nephew. She did all I wished, but had I known how she treated you," he muttered, clenching his fist, "I should soon have brought her to her bearings."
"And it was this power that made her introduce you into Colester society?"
"Yes. I can do what I like with the woman. I know it is a terrible thing for you to find out what I am. But I took to bad courses early, Leo, and I went from bad to worse. It is a second nature for me to steal—"
"Oh!" Leo rose with a sickening sensation of disgust. "Don't tell me any of your evil doings. I know that you are my father; that you are a thief; I want to know no more. You have ruined my life."
"I have not," said Pratt. "How can you say such a thing! What you have heard to-night need go no further. I shall say nothing, and Mrs Gabriel will be forced to hold her tongue. Your name is cleared of this theft."
"Did you not steal the cup?" broke in Leo, looking at his father.
"No; I did not. If I had stolen it I should say so. But I do not know who took it. I am going to London to find out. Old Penny, the pawnbroker, is a friend of mine. I know enough to get him into trouble as a receiver of stolen goods, so he will have to tell me who it was impersonated you."
"You said in your letter that Adam—"
Pratt interrupted impatiently. "Adam had nothing to do with it," he said. "I invented all that to throw dust in Marton's eyes. I suspect that Hale has something to do with the stealing of the cup. He may have taken it himself, for all I know. But Old Penny will tell me. I'll get to the bottom of this, you may be sure. As to you, Leo, hold your tongue about being my son and come back to Mrs Gabriel. She will be quite willing to receive you, and I can force her to make you her heir. Then you can marry Sybil. When you are rich and have an assured position, the vicar will overlook the stain on your birth. It is a lie, certainly," added Pratt, with a shrug, "but to tell the truth would be to make matters worse, so we must leave things as they are. For once Mrs Gabriel has got the better of me. But it won't occur again. You stay with her, and I promise you she will be as polite as possible to you. You will be master here."
Leo listened to this long speech with his aching head between his hands. When Pratt had finished, he looked up quietly. "It is good of you to take all this trouble," he said, "but I cannot come back toMrs Gabriel. Even if she loved, instead of hating me, I could not come back on those terms. I can never marry Sybil either. Do you think that I would let her become my wife, knowing who I am? Your sins must be visited on me, Pratt—I can't call you father. You say you are my father, and you declare that you can prove it. When you are in London I expect you to do so. Let me know your address, and I'll come up. But for the moment I assume that you are speaking the truth. In that case there is nothing for me to do but to go to South Africa and seek a soldier's death. I would rather die than marry Sybil now."
"Don't talk like that, Leo," said Pratt, much moved, and wincing at the contempt of the young man. "I am not so bad as you think. I have done many a kind action. I can—"
"Oh, don't defend yourself," said Leo, rising to go. "I must get away by the same way I came. I shall say nothing, but I hope you will be out of Colester by to-morrow night. Marton leaves in the morning, so the coast will be clear. I'm going now, and I hope to hear from you, so that you may give me proof of the truth of this story."
"You don't believe me?"
"I do—in a way. It seems to be true. You say so, and Mrs Gabriel also. I suppose I am your son. But I am hoping against hope that you may not be able to prove the truth."
"Leo," said Pratt, following him to the window, "I am your father, and if you intend to leave Sybil you may as well come with me. I can go with youto South America, and there I can lead a new life. I am rich in spite of losing The Nun's House. I have a belt of jewels!—thousands of pounds of the most valuable—"
"And all stolen," cried Leo, thrusting him back in disgust. "For God's sake don't speak to me any more, or I shall forget that you are my father! If you only knew how I loathe myself for being your son! I never thought it would come to this. Let me go—let me go!" and Leo, pulling his arm from the grasp of Pratt, rushed out on to the terrace.
In another ten minutes Mrs Gabriel re-entered. She found Pratt with his head buried in his arms, sobbing like a child. At the sight she burst out laughing. Then she locked the window Leo had left open.
"Get to bed, Pratt," she said, contemptuously, "and pleasant dreams to you!"
Leo had never felt so wretched in his life as he did the next day. Seeing that he was greatly disturbed, Marton wished to learn the reason. As Haverleigh had promised to keep secret the presence of his father at the castle, he was obliged to evade a direct answer.
"I saw Mrs Gabriel," he said quietly. "We had a long conversation, and she told me what she had said to the vicar."
"Is it a serious matter?" asked the detective.
"Serious enough to prevent my marriage," replied Leo; "but what it is I do not feel called upon to explain. It concerns myself and no one else. If you could help me, Marton, I should tell you, but you cannot—no one can. I don't think there is any more to be said."
Seeing the young man thus determined, Marton said no more, as he did not wish to force Leo's confidence. The next morning he took his departure, assuring Haverleigh that he was always at his disposal when wanted. "Depend upon it," he said, as he took leave, "you are not yet done with Mrs Gabriel. She will get you into more trouble. When she does, write to that address."
"Thank you, Marton; should I require your assistance I will write."
The two men parted, Marton to London, and Leo back to the inn. He was very miserable, the more so as he had to avoid the society of Sybil. Knowing what he did, it was impossible for him to talk of love to her. He felt that he had no right to do so—that he was gaining her affections wrongly. Sooner or later he would have to leave her, but he did not wish to break away abruptly. Little by little he hoped to withdraw himself from her presence, and thus the final separation would be more easy. All the next day he wandered alone on the moor, where there was no chance of meeting with Sybil. The morning afterwards he received a note from Mrs Gabriel stating that a certain person had taken his departure, Leo was then in a fever of anxiety lest the person should be captured.
However, he learned within twenty-four hours that there was no need to worry. An unsigned telegram came from London, intimating that the sender was in safety, and would communicate with him when the time was ripe. Leo took this to mean that Pratt could not easily get at the papers verifying his story, owing to the vigilance exercised by the police, who were on the look-out for him. Leo therefore possessed his soul in patience until such time as all should be made clear.
Meantime, as he told Pratt, he was hoping against hope that the story was not true. Certainly Pratt had spoken in what appeared to be a most truthful way, hehad exhibited an emotion he would scarcely have given way to had he been telling a falsehood. But Haverleigh knew what an actor the man was, and, until proof was forthcoming, still cherished a hope that a comedy had been acted for some reason best known to Pratt himself. That is, it was a comedy to Pratt; but to Leo Haverleigh it approached perilously near to tragedy. Afterwards, looking back on the agony of those few days, he wondered that he had not killed himself in sheer despair.
But he could not remain in the same place with Sybil without feeling an overwhelming desire to tell her the whole story, and thus put an end to an impossible situation. Once she knew the truth, that he was the son of a criminal, she would see that a marriage was out of the question. Leo was quite certain that she would still love him, and, after all, he was not responsible for the sins of his father. But for the sake of Mr Tempest, she could not marry him, nor—as he assured himself—would he ask her to do so. Two or three times he was on the point of seeking her out and revealing all; but a feeling of the grief he would cause her made him change his determination. He resolved finally to leave her in a fool's paradise until he had proof from Pratt of the supposed paternity. But to be near her and not speak to her was unbearable. So he sent a note saying he was called away for a few days on business, and went to Portfront. Here he remained waiting to hear from Pratt. And no man could have been more miserable, a mood scarcely to be wondered at considering the provocation.
Meantime, Colester society had been much exercised over the discovery of Leo's innocence and the supposed delinquency of Pratt. Certainly, as Haverleigh and Mrs Gabriel knew, Pratt had generously taken on his own shoulders the blame which had wrongfully rested on those of the young man. But no one else knew this, and even if Pratt had come forward and told the truth, no one would have believed him. He had been so clearly proved to be a thief, and the scandal concerning the stolen goods in The Nun's House was so great, that there was no ill deed with which the villagers and gentry of Colester were not prepared to credit him. Mrs Bathurst was particularly virulent in her denunciations of the rascal.
"But I always knew that he was a bad lot," said Mrs Bathurst. "Did I not say it was incredible that a wealthy man should come down to pass his days in a dull place like Colester? How lucky it is that we found out his wickedness, thanks to that dear Mr Marton, who is, I am sure, a perfect gentleman, in spite of his being a police officer. I shall always look upon him as having saved Peggy. The creature," so she always called her former favourite, "wanted to marry Peggy. I saw it in his eye. Perhaps I might have yielded, and then what would have happened? I should have had a Jack the Ripper in the family!"
"Oh! scarcely as bad as that, Mrs Bathurst," said Raston, to whom she was speaking. "Pratt was never a murderer."
"How do you know that, Mr Raston? For my part, I believe he was capable of the most terriblecrimes. If he had married Peggy! The very idea makes me shudder. But the dear child has escaped the snares of evil, and I hope to see her shortly the wife of a good man," here Mrs Bathurst cast a look on her companion.
Raston smiled. He knew perfectly well what she meant. Failing the wealthy Pratt, who had been proved a scoundrel, the humble curate had a chance of becoming Mrs Bathurst's son-in-law. And Raston was not unwilling. He loved Peggy and she loved him. They understood one another, and had done so for some time. Never would Peggy have married Pratt had he asked her a dozen times. But, as she had told Raston, the man had never intended to propose. Knowing this, Raston was glad to see that Mrs Bathurst was not disinclined to accept him as a suitor for her daughter. He then and there struck the iron while it was hot.
"I do not know if I am a very good man, Mrs Bathurst," he said, still smiling, "but if you think me good enough for Peggy, I shall be more than satisfied. I have the curacy and three hundred a year. My family you know all about, and I suppose you have formed your own conclusions as to the merits of my personality. I am not likely to turn out a criminal like Pratt, you know."
"Really, Mr Raston, you take my breath away," said Mrs Bathurst, quite equal to the occasion. "I never suspected that you loved Peggy. Still, if such is the case, and she loves you, and you are prepared to insure your life in case you die unexpectedly, I donot mind your marrying her. She is a dear girl and will make you an excellent wife."
"Thank you, Mrs Bathurst. Then I may see Peggy now."
"She is in the garden, Harold." Mrs Bathurst had long since informed herself of the curate's Christian name, so as to be prepared for an emergency of this sort. "Go to her and take with you a mother's blessing."
Thus burdened, Raston sought out Peggy, and then and there told her that all was well. They could love one another without let or hindrance. The engagement had been sanctioned officially by Mrs Bathurst. Peggy laughed consumedly when Raston related the pretty little comedy played by her mother. "She must think you a donkey, Harold," she said. "Mother thinks everyone is as blind as herself."
"Mrs Bathurst fancies herself very wide awake, my dear."
"Those who are particularly blind always do, Harold."
Then they began to talk of their future, of the probability of Sybil becoming the wife of Leo, and the chances of Mrs Gabriel taking the young man again to her castle. From one subject to another they passed on until Peggy made an observation about Pearl. "She is out and about, I see," said Peggy, "but she still looks thin."
"And no wonder. Her illness has been a severe one. But she will soon put on flesh and regain her colour. She is always wandering on the moor, andthe winds there will do more to restore her to health than all the drugs in the pharmacopœia of James."
"Why does she go on the moor?" said Peggy. "I thought it was the chapel she was fond of sitting in."
"Ah! She has changed all that," said Raston, sadly. "It seems—I think I told you this before—that Mrs Jeal told her some horrible Calvinistic doctrine, and poor Pearl thinks she is lost eternally. It was her idea that the cup was given into her charge, and now she believes that the Master has taken it from her because she is not good enough to be the custodian."
"Poor girl!" said Peggy, sympathetically. "But I thought, Harold, that she believed the cup had been taken up to Heaven for the Supper of the Master?"
"She did believe that till Mrs Jeal upset her mind anew. Now she thinks she is lost, and I can't get the terrible idea out of her head. She is like a lost thing wandering about the moor. Only one cure is possible."
"What is that, Harold?"
"The cup must be restored to the altar she has built."
"An altar! Has she built one?"
"I followed her on to the moor the other day, wishing to calm her mind. Some distance away, in the centre of the heather, she has erected an altar of turf, and she told me that if the Master forgave her He would replace the cup which He had taken from her on that altar. She goes there every day to see if thecup has returned. If it did, I believe she would again be her old happy self."
"But there is no chance of the cup being returned."
"No," said Raston, a trifle grimly; "Pratt has got it again in his possession, and he will not let it go. Save for Pearl, I do not think it matters much. We could never again use it for the service of the chapel. A cup that has been stolen cannot be put to sacred uses."
"Do you think it was stolen?"
"I am certain of it. Everything belonging to that man was stolen. What a pity, Peggy, that such a clever fellow should use his talents for such a bad purpose."
"A great pity. I liked Mr Pratt, and even now, although he is such a wretch, I can't help feeling sorry for him."
"So do I, Peggy. There was good in Pratt. Let us hope he will repent. But now, darling, don't let us talk more of him. He has gone, and will never come back. What about the wedding-day?"
"Oh, Harold!" began Peggy, and blushed. After this the conversation became too personal to be reported. It is sufficient to say that the wedding-day was fixed for two months later.
While all these discoveries in connections with Pratt were being made in Colester, events which had to do with Sybil's advertisement had happened which prevented her keeping it any longer a secret from her father. She put off telling him till the very last moment, but when one day a London visitor arrived shewas forced to speak out. A card inscribed with the name "Lord Kilspindie" was brought to her, and on the back of it was a pencilled note hinting that the gentleman had called about the advertisement. Sybil ordered that he should be shown into the drawing-room, and went to her father's study. The vicar was preparing his sermon, and looked up ill-pleased at the interruption.
"What is it, Sybil?" he asked. "I am busy."
"Please forgive me for interrupting you, father," she replied, coming to the desk and putting her arm round his neck, "but I have something to tell you, something to confess."
"You have been doing nothing wrong, I hope," said Tempest, suspiciously.
"I don't think it is wrong, save in one particular. That advertisement! It was I who put it into the papers."
"Sybil! And you never told me!" The vicar was annoyed. At the same time he felt relieved that it was nothing worse. He fancied that she might be about to confess that she had married Leo.
"It was no use telling you until something came of it, father," replied Sybil, calmly, "so do not be angry. Now that the whole mystery has been cleared up, the advertisement is useless. But I received one answer to it. A gentleman called Lord Kilspindie wrote to me at the post-office as 'S. T.,' asking to see me about the cup. He had something serious to say about it. I was curious—I think you would have been curious yourself, father—so I wrote, and, givingmy real name and address, asked him to come down here. He is now in the drawing-room."
Tempest rose to his feet, looking vexed. "Lord Kilspindie in the drawing-room, and I only know of the matter now. Really, Sybil, you have behaved very badly. What does he want?"
"To tell us something about the cup, I suppose," said Sybil. "Do you know Lord Kilspindie, father?"
"No more than that he is a border lord and a wealthy man. I believe he has a splendid and famous castle near the Tweed. Sybil, you should have told me."
"I am sorry, but I didn't think it was worth while until he came. You are not angry, father. I have done nothing so very bad, and it was my eagerness about Leo that made me take up the matter."
"You offered a reward of fifty pounds! How is that to be paid?"
Sybil laughed. "I don't think there will be any question of reward with Lord Kilspindie," she said. "Besides, he has not brought the cup. You know that Mr Pratt has it, and is likely to keep it. Come, father, forgive me, and let us see Lord Kilspindie. I am filled with curiosity."
"You are a wicked girl," said the vicar, indulgently, and gave her a kiss. "If you do this again—"
"I never will, father—unless Leo is again in danger."
The vicar sighed. His conscience pricked him about Leo, and he did not know how to act towards making amendment. Certainly if he gave his consentto the marriage Leo would be more than repaid for the ill thoughts entertained about him. But Tempest was filled with pride of race, and could not bring himself to give his beautiful daughter to a nameless man. However, he could not consider the matter now, since his illustrious visitor was waiting in the drawing room, so with Sybil he went to greet him.
"Miss Tempest?" said Lord Kilspindie, coming forward, with a look of admiration at the beautiful girl before him, "and you, sir?"
Sybil allowed her father to speak, as was right and proper. "I am the vicar of this place, Lord Kilspindie," said Tempest, politely, "and this is my daughter. It was she who put the advertisement in the paper. I presume that it is to that we owe the pleasure of your company."
"That and nothing else," said Lord Kilspindie, taking the seat pointed out to him by the vicar. "I have been looking for that cup for over twenty years. It is not in your possession?"
"It was for a few weeks," replied the vicar, who was very curious. "I had better tell you the whole story, and then you can judge for yourself."
"If you will be so kind," replied Lord Kilspindie, courteously.
He listened attentively while Mr Tempest narrated all the events in connection with the cup from the time Pratt had arrived in Colester. The story was a strange one, and the visitor was much interested. However, he did not offer one interruption. Sybil watched him the meanwhile.
He was a tall, grey-haired man of over sixty, but still vigorous and straight. His face was lined, however, as though he had undergone much trouble. He had a soldierly look about him, and all the time the vicar was speaking tugged at a long grey moustache, the only hair he wore on his face. Sybil thought of the line in the "Ancient Mariner" about long and lean and brown as the seashore sand (she could not quite recall the quotation), but to her it described Kilspindie perfectly. He was rather sad-looking, and his quiet grey eyes looked as though he had known bitter trouble. And indeed he had. Sybil learned that later.
"A very interesting story," he said politely when Mr Tempest had finished, "but disappointing in its ending. You say this man Pratt has now the cup in his possession?"
"He confessed as much, my lord, in a letter to the detective in charge of the case. It is a pity he has escaped with it."
"A great pity," responded the other. "I suppose there is no chance of his being captured?"
"From what Mr Marton said I should think not," put in Sybil. "He says that Pratt has baffled all the cleverest detectives in England for a great number of years."