"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 surmise 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 moor, 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 graceful, slender figure and a handsome face, but best of all was the kindly look in the eyes. Kilspindie shook hands heartily with Leo, and sighed as he thought that his lost son might be just such another. Had he known of what Raston and the young man before him had talked about on the previous night, he might have been more particular in his inquiries, and might perchance have been brought to think as Raston did. However, he knew nothing, Leo said nothing, and the conversation resolved itself into the common-place. Tempest was kind to Leo, Kilspindie was friendly, and the three got on very well. Meanwhile, Sybil and Pearl were walking across the moor. After a time they stopped at the turf altar erected by the mad girl, and she explained to her companion the reason she had made such a place.