CHAPTER XVI
SYBIL'S VISITOR
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 atthe castle, he was obliged to evade a direct answer.
"I saw Mrs Gabriel," he said quietly. "We had a long conversation, andshe 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 Ido 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 onecan. I don't think there is any more to be said."
Seeing the young man thus determined, Marton said no more, as he did notwish 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 withMrs Gabriel. She will get you into more trouble. When she does, write tothat 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 wasvery 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 heraffections wrongly. Sooner or later he would have to leave her, but hedid not wish to break away abruptly. Little by little he hoped towithdraw himself from her presence, and thus the final separation wouldbe more easy. All the next day he wandered alone on the moor, wherethere was no chance of meeting with Sybil. The morning afterwards hereceived a note from Mrs Gabriel stating that a certain person had takenhis departure, Leo was then in a fever of anxiety lest the person shouldbe captured.
However, he learned within twenty-four hours that there was no need toworry. An unsigned telegram came from London, intimating that the senderwas 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 papersverifying his story, owing to the vigilance exercised by the police, whowere on the look-out for him. Leo therefore possessed his soul inpatience until such time as all should be made clear.
Meantime, as he told Pratt, he was hoping against hope that the storywas not true. Certainly Pratt had spoken in what appeared to be a mosttruthful way, he had exhibited an emotion he would scarcely have givenway to had he been telling a falsehood. But Haverleigh knew what anactor the man was, and, until proof was forthcoming, still cherished ahope that a comedy had been acted for some reason best known to Pratthimself. That is, it was a comedy to Pratt; but to Leo Haverleigh itapproached perilously near to tragedy. Afterwards, looking back on theagony of those few days, he wondered that he had not killed himself insheer despair.
But he could not remain in the same place with Sybil without feeling anoverwhelming desire to tell her the whole story, and thus put an end toan impossible situation. Once she knew the truth, that he was the son ofa criminal, she would see that a marriage was out of the question. Leowas quite certain that she would still love him, and, after all, he wasnot responsible for the sins of his father. But for the sake of MrTempest, she could not marry him, nor--as he assured himself--would heask her to do so. Two or three times he was on the point of seeking herout and revealing all; but a feeling of the grief he would cause hermade him change his determination. He resolved finally to leave her in afool'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 anote saying he was called away for a few days on business, and went toPortfront. Here he remained waiting to hear from Pratt. And no man couldhave been more miserable, a mood scarcely to be wondered at consideringthe provocation.
Meantime, Colester society had been much exercised over the discovery ofLeo's innocence and the supposed delinquency of Pratt. Certainly, asHaverleigh and Mrs Gabriel knew, Pratt had generously taken on his ownshoulders the blame which had wrongfully rested on those of the youngman. But no one else knew this, and even if Pratt had come forward andtold the truth, no one would have believed him. He had been so clearlyproved to be a thief, and the scandal concerning the stolen goods in TheNun's House was so great, that there was no ill deed with which thevillagers and gentry of Colester were not prepared to credit him. MrsBathurst was particularly virulent in her denunciations of the rascal.
"But I always knew that he was a bad lot," said Mrs Bathurst. "Did I notsay it was incredible that a wealthy man should come down to pass hisdays in a dull place like Colester? How lucky it is that we found outhis wickedness, thanks to that dear Mr Marton, who is, I am sure, aperfect gentleman, in spite of his being a police officer. I shallalways look upon him as having saved Peggy. The creature," so she alwayscalled her former favourite, "wanted to marry Peggy. I saw it in hiseye. Perhaps I might have yielded, and then what would have happened? Ishould have had a Jack the Ripper in the family!"
"Oh! scarcely as bad as that, Mrs Bathurst," said Raston, to whom shewas speaking. "Pratt was never a murderer."
"How do you know that, Mr Raston? For my part, I believe he was capableof the most terrible crimes. If he had married Peggy! The very ideamakes me shudder. But the dear child has escaped the snares of evil, andI hope to see her shortly the wife of a good man," here Mrs Bathurstcast a look on her companion.
Raston smiled. He knew perfectly well what she meant. Failing thewealthy Pratt, who had been proved a scoundrel, the humble curate had achance of becoming Mrs Bathurst's son-in-law. And Raston was notunwilling. He loved Peggy and she loved him. They understood oneanother, and had done so for some time. Never would Peggy have marriedPratt had he asked her a dozen times. But, as she had told Raston, theman had never intended to propose. Knowing this, Raston was glad to seethat Mrs Bathurst was not disinclined to accept him as a suitor for herdaughter. 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, stillsmiling, "but if you think me good enough for Peggy, I shall be morethan satisfied. I have the curacy and three hundred a year. My familyyou know all about, and I suppose you have formed your own conclusionsas to the merits of my personality. I am not likely to turn out acriminal like Pratt, you know."
"Really, Mr Raston, you take my breath away," said Mrs Bathurst, quiteequal 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 insureyour life in case you die unexpectedly, I do not mind your marryingher. 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 informedherself of the curate's Christian name, so as to be prepared for anemergency of this sort. "Go to her and take with you a mother'sblessing."
Thus burdened, Raston sought out Peggy, and then and there told her thatall was well. They could love one another without let or hindrance. Theengagement had been sanctioned officially by Mrs Bathurst. Peggy laughedconsumedly when Raston related the pretty little comedy played by hermother. "She must think you a donkey, Harold," she said. "Mother thinkseveryone 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 Sybilbecoming the wife of Leo, and the chances of Mrs Gabriel taking theyoung man again to her castle. From one subject to another they passedon until Peggy made an observation about Pearl. "She is out and about, Isee," said Peggy, "but she still looks thin."
"And no wonder. Her illness has been a severe one. But she will soon puton flesh and regain her colour. She is always wandering on the moor,and the winds there will do more to restore her to health than all thedrugs in the pharmacopoeia of James."
"Why does she
go on the moor?" said Peggy. "I thought it was the chapelshe was fond of sitting in."
"Ah! She has changed all that," said Raston, sadly. "It seems--I think Itold you this before--that Mrs Jeal told her some horrible Calvinisticdoctrine, and poor Pearl thinks she is lost eternally. It was her ideathat the cup was given into her charge, and now she believes that theMaster has taken it from her because she is not good enough to be thecustodian."
"Poor girl!" said Peggy, sympathetically. "But I thought, Harold, thatshe believed the cup had been taken up to Heaven for the Supper of theMaster?"
"She did believe that till Mrs Jeal upset her mind anew. Now she thinksshe is lost, and I can't get the terrible idea out of her head. She islike 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 analtar of turf, and she told me that if the Master forgave her He wouldreplace the cup which He had taken from her on that altar. She goesthere every day to see if the cup has returned. If it did, I believeshe 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 hispossession, and he will not let it go. Save for Pearl, I do not think itmatters 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 apity, Peggy, that such a clever fellow should use his talents for such abad purpose."
"A great pity. I liked Mr Pratt, and even now, although he is such awretch, 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 willnever come back. What about the wedding-day?"
"Oh, Harold!" began Peggy, and blushed. After this the conversationbecame too personal to be reported. It is sufficient to say that thewedding-day was fixed for two months later.
While all these discoveries in connections with Pratt were being made inColester, events which had to do with Sybil's advertisement had happenedwhich prevented her keeping it any longer a secret from her father. Sheput off telling him till the very last moment, but when one day a Londonvisitor arrived she was forced to speak out. A card inscribed with thename "Lord Kilspindie" was brought to her, and on the back of it was apencilled note hinting that the gentleman had called about theadvertisement. Sybil ordered that he should be shown into thedrawing-room, and went to her father's study. The vicar was preparinghis 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 tothe desk and putting her arm round his neck, "but I have something totell 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 timehe felt relieved that it was nothing worse. He fancied that she might beabout to confess that she had married Leo.
"It was no use telling you until something came of it, father," repliedSybil, calmly, "so do not be angry. Now that the whole mystery has beencleared up, the advertisement is useless. But I received one answer toit. 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 sayabout it. I was curious--I think you would have been curious yourself,father--so I wrote, and, giving my real name and address, asked him tocome down here. He is now in the drawing-room."
Tempest rose to his feet, looking vexed. "Lord Kilspindie in thedrawing-room, and I only know of the matter now. Really, Sybil, you havebehaved very badly. What does he want?"
"To tell us something about the cup, I suppose," said Sybil. "Do youknow Lord Kilspindie, father?"
"No more than that he is a border lord and a wealthy man. I believe hehas a splendid and famous castle near the Tweed. Sybil, you should havetold me."
"I am sorry, but I didn't think it was worth while until he came. Youare not angry, father. I have done nothing so very bad, and it was myeagerness 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 withLord Kilspindie," she said. "Besides, he has not brought the cup. Youknow 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 akiss. "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 notknow how to act towards making amendment. Certainly if he gave hisconsent to the marriage Leo would be more than repaid for the illthoughts entertained about him. But Tempest was filled with pride ofrace, and could not bring himself to give his beautiful daughter to anameless man. However, he could not consider the matter now, since hisillustrious visitor was waiting in the drawing room, so with Sybil hewent to greet him.
"Miss Tempest?" said Lord Kilspindie, coming forward, with a look ofadmiration at the beautiful girl before him, "and you, sir?"
Sybil allowed her father to speak, as was right and proper. "I am thevicar of this place, Lord Kilspindie," said Tempest, politely, "and thisis my daughter. It was she who put the advertisement in the paper. Ipresume that it is to that we owe the pleasure of your company."
"That and nothing else," said Lord Kilspindie, taking the seat pointedout to him by the vicar. "I have been looking for that cup for overtwenty years. It is not in your possession?"
"It was for a few weeks," replied the vicar, who was very curious. "Ihad better tell you the whole story, and then you can judge foryourself."
"If you will be so kind," replied Lord Kilspindie, courteously.
He listened attentively while Mr Tempest narrated all the events inconnection with the cup from the time Pratt had arrived in Colester. Thestory 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 andstraight. His face was lined, however, as though he had undergone muchtrouble. He had a soldierly look about him, and all the time the vicarwas speaking tugged at a long grey moustache, the only hair he wore onhis face. Sybil thought of the line in the "Ancient Mariner" about longand lean and brown as the seashore sand (she could not quite recall thequotation), but to her it described Kilspindie perfectly. He was rathersad-looking, and his quiet grey eyes looked as though he had knownbitter trouble. And indeed he had. Sybil learned that later.
"A very interesting story," he said politely when Mr Tempest hadfinished, "but disappointing in its ending. You say this man Pratt hasnow the cup in his possession?"
"He confessed as much, my lord, in a letter to the detective in chargeof the case. It is a pity he has escaped with it."
"A great pity," responded the other. "I suppose there is no chance ofhis being captured?"
"From what Mr Marton said I should think not," put in Sybil. "He saysthat Pratt has baffled all the cleverest detectives in England for agreat number of years."
Kilspindie sighed. "No chance of getting it back," he murmured; "and theluck will still be bad."
"The luck!" echoed Sybil, catching the word.
"You will think me superstitious," he said, with a smile; "but the factis that the cup i
s said to be a fairy gift, and has been in our familyfor generations. The luck of the family goes with the cup."
"Like the luck of Edenhall!" said Sybil, remembering Longfellow's poem.
"Precisely," responded Kilspindie. "The legend is a curious one. I musttell it to you some time. Of course my opinion is that the cup is ofRoman manufacture. I recognised it from its description, and especiallyfrom the Latin motto you set down in the advertisement. I think thatgoblet was dedicated to Bacchus, and was probably lost by some Romangeneral when Scotland was invaded by the Caesars."
All this time Mr Tempest was trying to recover from the horror of histhoughts. "A pagan cup!" he gasped, "and a stolen cup! Oh, my lord, andit was used as a communion cup. Pratt said that he had brought it fromItaly, where it was so used by the Romish Church. I thought it wassanctified by such a use, and did not hesitate to put it again on thealtar. I really don't know what to say. It is like sacrilege."
"I am sorry, Mr Tempest. But the cup has been at Kilspindie Castle forfive hundred years. It never was used in the service of the Church. Overtwenty years ago it was stolen by a woman."
"By a woman," echoed Sybil. She had quite expected to hear Pratt'sname.