"Well, I might, miss; I'll see." Then, after a pause, Mrs Jeal asked, "About that gentleman at your place, miss--will he stay long?" "Only till the end of the week. I suppose you mean Lord Kilspindie?" Mrs Jeal's wicked eyes blazed. "Yes, I mean him," she said, and gave an unpleasant laugh. "Oh! so he goes at the end of the week! Well, miss, before I take up my situation with Miss Hale, I'll come and see you about Pearl. If you could take her I should be glad, but you'll find her a nuisance." "I don't think so," said Sybil, coldly. "When will you call?" "After the departure of Lord Kilspindie," said Mrs Jeal, with another wicked look, and went into the house. Sybil departed, wondering why the woman had asked about Lord Kilspindie, and why she seemed afraid to meet him. Had she been clever enough, she might have guessed the truth. As it was the matter passed out of her mind. After this there were some very pleasant evenings at the Vicarage. Leo felt almost happy, in spite of his troubles. He could not as yet bring himself to tell Sybil that he could never marry her. Besides, he was hoping against hope that Raston would bring back some good news from London. Not, indeed, that he (Leo Haverleigh) was the lost son of Lord Kilspindie--that such good fortune should be his never entered Leo's head--but that Pratt was not his father. Leo felt that he would rather be proved to be illegitimate, as Mrs Gabriel had told the vicar he was, than have such a father as the criminal, Pratt. Yet, at times he felt sorry for the man. It was certain that he had in him some good qualities. But whenever Leo thought of him as his father, he became enraged against him. The thing was too horrible. Lord Kilspindie took wonderfully to Leo, and this the vicar was pleased to see. Owing to Leo's want of an honest name, he could not bring himself to consent to the marriage, so he hoped that the Scotch lord might take a fancy to the young man and carry him off. Thus Sybil would be safe, and Leo would be provided for. Mr Tempest had evidently forgotten his own youth, or he would have remembered that loving hearts are not so easily severed. Leo and Sybil loved one another too well for aught to come between them. On Saturday night Raston returned. It was so late that Leo had not expected him, so they did not meet until the next morning. Then it was on the way to church. "Well," Leo asked eagerly, "and what does my--what does Pratt say?" "I'll tell you after service," said Raston, hastily. "At present I can't think of these things." "But one word, Raston," urged Leo. "Is Pratt my father?" "No," replied the curate, emphatically, "he is not." And before Leo could ask another question he ran off. Filled with joy at the intelligence, but much bewildered, Leo went to church to offer up thanks.