The Pagan's Cup

"How do you know that, Mr Raston? For my part, I believe he was capable of the most terrible crimes. 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 do not 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, and the 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 the cup 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 she was 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, giving my 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 consent to 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."

Kilspindie sighed. "No chance of getting it back," he murmured; "and the luck will still be bad."

"The luck!" echoed Sybil, catching the word.

"You will think me superstitious," he said, with a smile; "but the fact is that the cup is said to be a fairy gift, and has been in our family for 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 must tell it to you some time. Of course my opinion is that the cup is of Roman manufacture. I recognised it from its description, and especially from the Latin motto you set down in the advertisement. I think that goblet was dedicated to Bacchus, and was probably lost by some Roman general when Scotland was invaded by the Cæsars."

All this time Mr Tempest was trying to recover from the horror of his thoughts. "A pagan cup!" he gasped, "and a stolen cup! Oh, my lord, and it was used as a communion cup. Pratt said that he had brought it from Italy, where it was so used by the Romish Church. I thought it was sanctified by such a use, and did not hesitate to put it again on the altar. 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 for five hundred years. It never was used in the service of the Church. Over twenty years ago it was stolen by a woman."

"By a woman," echoed Sybil. She had quite expected to hear Pratt's name.