The Pagan's Cup

"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.

CHAPTER XVII

LORD KILSPINDIE EXPLAINS

"Before you begin your story, my lord," said the vicar, "will you please inform me how you came to know of the loss of the cup?"

"I have already done so, Mr Tempest. I saw the advertisement offering a reward for its recovery. The description and the quotation of the Latin motto were sufficient to show me that it was my heirloom. I wrote to the office of the paper, and afterwards received a letter from Miss Tempest, here, asking me to call. I have taken up my abode at the inn, as I may stay here for a few days. I want to know all I can about the matter. If I can only trace and recover the cup through your agency I shall be eternally your debtor."

"I cannot tell you more than I have related," replied the vicar. "This man Pratt took back the cup, and is now in London – where, no one knows. I fear the cup is as lost as though it had been swallowed up by the ocean!"

"It is enough that I know in whose possession it is," said Kilspindie, with determination. "In some way or another I shall find this man. For I may tell you, Mr Tempest, that, besides the recovery of a family treasure, I have another and more important object in view – the recovery of my son, who was stolen from me at the time the cup disappeared."

Tempest expressed much astonishment at this information, and Sybil opened her eyes wide. She had never thought that her attempt to clear the character of her lover would lead to such a result. Neither she nor her father knew what to say, and, seeing them silent, Lord Kilspindie continued to speak.

"How the cup came into the possession of this man I cannot say. It was taken from the castle by a nurse called Janet Grant, who also carried away the child."

"Why did she do that?" asked Sybil, horrified.

"Out of revenge for a fancied slight she received from my wife," replied Kilspindie, with a sigh; "but it is best I should tell you all from the beginning. First, you must know the legend of the cup, that you may understand the value we Grants attach to its possession."

"I am fond of folk-lore," murmured the vicar, settling himself down for a pleasant half-hour. "Your family name is Grant, then, my lord?"

"Yes. Our title is Kilspindie, an earldom. My son who was stolen – my only son and only child, alas! – is Lord Morven, if he be still alive. But who knows if I shall ever see him again?"

"Hope for the best," said the vicar, gently. "God is over all!"

"You are right, Mr Tempest. But how many weary years have I waited, and have had to comfort myself in that fashion. Now, when I had lost all hope, the advertisement roused it again. If I find the cup I may discover my boy, or, at all events, I may find out if he is alive or dead."

"I am sure he is alive," said Sybil, impulsively. "Dear Lord Kilspindie, if there was no chance of your finding him I should not have been guided to put in that advertisement. It was entirely my own doing, and had I consulted with my father it would never have appeared."

"It certainly would not," said the vicar, promptly. "I had placed the matter in the hands of Mr Marton, and I was angry when I saw the advertisement – very angry, indeed."

"You must not be angry any more, Mr Tempest," said Kilspindie, with a smile, "seeing that it may lead to the discovery of my son. I owe much to Miss Tempest's indiscretion, as you no doubt call it."

"No," said Sybil, resolutely; "I am sure papa does not call it that. I did it to help Leo, and I would do it again. But tell us the legend, Lord Kilspindie."

The old man laughed. "If you have not the imagination of the Celt you will think it but a poor thing," he said. "In the days of Bruce, and on the Border, Nigel Grant, the head of the clan – my ancestor, Mr Tempest – was riding home from a foray against the English. He had been successful, and had collected a large mob of cattle, which were being driven to the castle by his followers. He was anxious to get home, for when he had left, two weeks previously, his wife was expected to give birth to a child. The chief eagerly desired that it might be a boy, for he had few relatives, and those he had were his bitterest enemies."

"What!" said Tempest, "and the Scotch so clannish?"

"They are more clannish in the Highlands than on the Border," replied the old lord. "Many of the Border families fought with one another. My clan did also for many a long day, although they are friendly enough now. However, you know the reason that Nigel Grant was so eager for an heir."

"Wouldn't a girl have done?" asked Sybil mischievously.

"By no means. The chief wanted a brave boy, to bestride a horse and wield a sword, and govern the unruly Grant clan with a strong hand. He had prayed to the Virgin to give him his heart's desire – they were all Roman Catholics in those days, remember. So you may guess he rode home at top speed, and as he neared the castle he was far in advance of his followers and alone. And then came the fairies."

"The fairies!" echoed Sybil. "This is interesting," and she laughed.

"We call them the Good Neighbours in Scotland, you know, because the fairies don't like to be talked about with disrespect. But to go on with my story. Nigel Grant was on a wide moor all alone, although the lances of his men-at-arms glittered on the verge of the horizon. Suddenly – from the viewless air, apparently, since there was no rock or tree or shelter of any kind – there appeared a small woman dressed in green, with a golden crown. At the sight of her the chief's horse stopped all at once, as though stricken into stone. The fairy queen – for it was she, the same, I suppose, who appeared to Thomas the Rhymer."

"Ah! she was mounted on a horse!" said Sybil, half to herself.