It was almost an hour later that Brandon stopped his car where two roads crossed, and looked behind him.
“By George, where are those people?” he queried.
“But we started first, and we came rapidly for a time,” reminded the girl.
“I know, but we’ve been simply creeping for the last mile or two,” returned the man. “I slowed up purposely to fall in behind the rest. I’m not so sure I know the way from here—but perhaps you do.” And he turned his eyes questioningly to hers.
“Not I,” she laughed. “But I thought you did.”
“So did I,” he grumbled. “I’ve been over this road enough in times past. Oh, I can get back to Hilcrest all right,” he added reassuringly. “It’s only that I don’t remember which is the best way. One road takes us through the town and is not so pleasant. I wanted to avoid that if possible.”
“Never mind; let’s go on,” proposed the girl. “It’s getting late, and we might miss them even if we waited. They may have taken another road farther back. If they thought you knew the way they wouldn’t feel in duty bound to keep track of us, and they may have already reached home. I don’t mind a bit which road we take.”
“All right,” acquiesced Brandon. “Just as you say. I think this is the one. Anyhow, we’ll try it.” And he turned his car to the left.
The sun had dipped behind the hills, and the quick chill of an August evening was in the air. Margaret shivered and reached for her coat. The road wound in and out through a scrubby growth of trees, then turned sharply and skirted the base of a steep hill. Beyond the next turn it dropped in a gentle descent and ran between wide open fields. A house appeared, then another and another. A man and a woman walked along the edge of the road and stopped while the automobile passed. The houses grew more frequent, and children and small dogs scurried across the road to a point of safety.
“By George, I believe we’ve got the wrong road now,” muttered Brandon with a frown. “Shall we go back?”