Pearl was really ill. She was in the habit of wandering about at night, and as the wet weather was coming she had been caught on the moor in a thunderstorm. Now she was laid up with a severe cold. Raston was particularly anxious about her. Leo met him one day, and the curate was red with indignation. It seemed he had good cause for it. "Did you ever hear of anything so wicked, Haverleigh?" he asked. "What is the matter now?" "Why, that poor mad child! She is very ill, as you know, but is getting on all right; Dr James says she is well on the way to recovery. Now Mrs Jeal took it into her head that the girl was dying, and has been frightening her with stories of eternal torment. You know, Pearl always believed that she would go to heaven, and be at the Supper with the Master, as she calls Our Lord. She never had any doubt. Now these gruesome stories of Mrs Jeal's have made her doubt if she will be saved. In fact, she believes now that unless the Master gives her some sign she will be lost!" "How cruel of Mrs Jeal," said Leo, angrily. "Oh! I believe she did it for the best. She is fond of Pearl, and kind to her. But you know she came from the north, and she holds to that gloomy Calvinistic religion that has terrified so many people. I gave her a good talking to, and she has consented to leave Pearl alone. All the same, she still holds that the child is a lost soul. I have been trying to pacify the poor creature. She is haunted by terrible fears." "Show her the cup!" suggested Leo. "She has such a belief in it as the Holy Grail that it may soothe her." "A good idea," said the curate. "I will ask Mr Tempest about it. But I cannot take it to her till Monday. To-morrow I preach in the evening. I hear you are going up to Town." "On Monday morning early. When you next hear of me, Raston, I may have enlisted." "And a good thing too," said Raston. "But that I am a clergyman I should have been a soldier. Good-day! Come to church to-morrow." And to church Leo went to see Sybil in her pew. He also went to the evening service. On Monday he departed for London. But no one heeded his going. The village was excited by a rumour that the cup had been stolen. On hearing the report Mr Tempest went to the church. It was true. The cup was gone. CHAPTER VII A NINE DAYS' WONDER Ill news spreads like circles on water when a stone is thrown in. Barker, the old sexton, a white-haired, crabbed sinner, was the first to discover the loss. He had gone to the chapel at seven in the morning to make ready the church for early celebration, and on going to the altar he had noticed that the cup was missing. Nothing else had been touched. At once the old man had trotted off to see the vicar, and in a quavering voice related what had taken place, finishing with a hope that he would not be blamed for the loss. "You locked the chapel up last night?" asked Mr Tempest, sorely distressed, for indeed this was sacrilege and not a common robbery.