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 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 ."
 
"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 on the subject—the result, I suppose, of your late experience of man's . 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, , "that is an ungrateful way to speak, after the mercy God has shown you. Has he not brought you through much , 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 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 , 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 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 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 with surprise as the 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 . Whomsoever you may be, Leo, you are certainly not the son of this . 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 , "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 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 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 , 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 , slender figure and a handsome face, but best of all was the look in the eyes. Kilspindie shook hands with Leo, and sighed as he thought............