"Yes—that Worcester is the one you mean, is it not?"
Now if this conversation had occurred in the United States the girl might have answered wisely, for she was more familiar with that country and knew something of its geography. But when such wide-of-the-mark questions were propounded in the heart of England they brought bewilderment. Moreover, they indicated an unbelievable ignorance or a wandering mind—or impertinence.
Her frown, although invisible in the darkness, seemed to reach the traveler.
"I beg your pardon, but I really have no idea where I am. Would you mind just telling me what part of the country we are in? Are we in Massachusetts?"
His manner was earnest. The sincerity of his tone again inspired confidence—and awakened her sympathy. "I don't quite know how to tell you, but we are very far from Massachusetts."
"Then what state is this?"
"I don't know just what you mean by state. The only state of Massachusetts I ever heard of is in America."
"Isn't this America?"
This question so far transcended, in foolishness, all its predecessors that her fears returned. She made no reply. What traveler, in his senses, could be so far astray? Was he a wandering lunatic escaped from his keepers, preferring darkness to light? Or was he merely amusing himself at her expense? As she recalled the lateness of the hour, and his strange appearance on the scene, her fears once more returned. Her impulse was to stand up, turn about and see if her uncle was in sight. But she dared not stir. Such action might offend him. For lunatics are often sensitive, and easily enraged. The figure in the gloom, however, came no nearer, but remained at a proper distance. When next he spoke it was slowly, and yet more earnestly. And the girl knew from his manner as well as from his words that he suspected the impression he was making.