For a moment the three gazed in silence and amazement at the old maid. She stood before them, all tousled and red with haste, a figure of fun she would not have recognized for herself. Her buckram demeanor had for once given way to the real woman. Alan was the first to speak, and he jumped up from the table with a shout of joy. From an unexpected quarter, in the most unexpected manner, help had come, and at the moment when it was most needed. "Joe Brill!" cried Mr. Thorold. "He is the very man I want. Where is he, Miss Vicky?" "At the Moat House. I went to the kitchen for a moment; he was there--he had just come in. I thought he was a ghost," declared the little lady solemnly; "indeed I did until he convinced me that he was flesh and blood." "What explanation did he make?" asked Sophy anxiously. "None--to me. He said he was ready to explain his absence to Mr. Thorold." "Did he? Then he shall have the chance. Go back to the Moat House, Miss Parsh, and send on Joe to the Good Samaritan." "Why there of all places?" asked the Rector. "Because I am going to see Lestrange, and force the truth out of him. There shall be an end to all this devilment. He accuses me, does he!" cried Thorold, with an ugly look. "Let him have a care lest I accuse him, and prove my accusation, too, with the help of Joe Brill." "Joseph!" cried Miss Parsh, quite at sea. "What can he do?" "He can prove if Lestrange's story is true or false." "Story, Mr. Alan! What story?" "Never mind, Vicky," put in Sophy, catching Miss Parsh's arm. She saw that Alan was growing impatient. "Come back home, and we will send Joe on to the inn. Come, you look quite upset." "And I am upset," wailed the poor woman. "I ran all the way to tell you that Joseph had returned--like a thief in the night," she added. "Oh, dear me! and I'm so hot and untidy. I don't like these dreadful things!" Miss Vicky suddenly caught sight of herself in an adjacent mirror, and made a hasty attempt to arrange her disordered dress. "Oh, what a spectacle for a genteel gentlewoman to present! A glass of wine, Mr. Phelps, I beg of you." The Rector poured out the wine in silence, then turned to Alan. "Shall I come with you!" "No, sir. Joe and I are quite able to deal with this brace of blackguards." "Remember that Lestrange is a dangerous man, Alan." "So am I," retorted the other grimly. "If I happen to find a whip handy, I don't know what I might be tempted to do." "But if Joe declares that Lestrange is Sophy's father?" "He is not my father!" cried Sophy. "His story is a lie! I am the daughter of Richard Marlow." "Sophia! This man--your father!" wailed Miss Vicky. "Oh dear, what is all this?" "I'll tell you when we get home," said the girl. "Alan, I will send Joe to the inn at once." And she led the weeping Vicky from the room. "Let me come, Alan. You will want a witness."