Presently, therefore, she found herself alone in the wilderness. There was something almost human and comforting about the “Comet,” however, that faithful mechanism that had borne them on so many pilgrimages, and Miss Campbell addressed herself to him as to a human companion.
“I just believe you had more sense than that stupid Ben Austen,” she said. “You wouldn’t go on because you knew perfectly well that your mistress was behind you. You’re a nice, good old thing.”
She paused and peered out of the car. Darkness was falling and the road was filled with somber shadows cast by the far-reaching branches of the trees on either side. As far as she could see along the white strip of road there was no human soul behind her. Her eyes swept the road in front. It was criss-crossed with light and shadow and it was difficult to make out anything moving, but Miss Campbell thought she saw an object approaching. Yes, it was unquestionably an object. Something large and white—a van. Great heavens, it was a Gypsy van!
“Ben!” she called, but Ben was quite a quarter of a mile away by now.
The only thing to do was to get out and hide behind a tree in the woods. She could not bring herself to face a band of Gypsies. Hurriedly climbing down from the car, Miss Campbell concealed herself in a thicket of trees near the road.
Presently the van drew up alongside the empty car.
“By Jove, here’s an abandoned motor. Where do you suppose the people are?” said a man walking at one side of the van and driving the horse.
Two women were comfortably seated in rocking chairs in the little front compartment of the vehicle.
“How strange!” said one of them. “It’s like finding a derelict at sea. Where are the Captain and the crew? Where are the passengers?”
“Where indeed?” thought the lady behind the tree.