THE MISSING KEY.
So excited was the little parson that Alan feared lest he should take a fit. The Good Samaritan was no great distance away, so thither he led him, into Mrs. Timber's private parlor.
"Now, sir," said Alan, when his old tutor seemed somewhat more composed, "tell me all about Mrs. Warrender."
But before Mr. Phelps could reply, the vixenish landlady made her appearance. She was highly honored at seeing the Rector within her doors, and curtsied a hint for orders. And, in truth, the little clergyman, undone with excitement, was quite ready to stimulate his jaded nerves.
"Eh, Mrs. Timber?" he said. "Yes; you might get us a little Cognac, I think. Old; the best you have, Mrs. Timber, and a jug of fresh-drawn water from the well, please. Alan?"
"I'll join you," said young Thorold promptly.
He, too, felt that he was in nowise beyond reach of a little stimulant.
Silent for once in her life, Mrs. Timber brought of her best, which, be it said, was passing good. Mr. Phelps lost no time in brewing his measure and drank it down with gusto.
"That's good, Alan, my boy; very good," said he, setting down the tumbler with a sigh of relief. "God forgive me, I fear to think what my good brethren would say did they see their Rector in a public-house! though to be sure the Good Samaritan is a most respectable hostelry. But, Alan, why did you bring me here?"
"Indeed, sir, I feared you would be ill out there in the blazing sun. I did only what I thought wise. But about Mrs. Warrender--you say she has disappeared?"