She raised her head to listen, thinking that her senses must be playing her a trick. No; it certainly was the sound of wheels, coming nearer and nearer. Some one was driving fast through the darkness, so fast that in what seemed to her to be less than a minute the driver was close upon her. Apparently nearly in front of her, although she could not see it, was a road along which the vehicle was approaching. It carried no lights; nothing broke the shadows; but, if her ears could be trusted, within a stone's-throw of where she was some wheeled conveyance was hurrying past. She stood upon her one sound foot and shouted:--
"Hallo!--hallo-o!--hallo-o-o!" again and again.
Her first shouts went unheeded. Possessed by a wild fear that she might remain unnoticed, raising her voice to a desperate yell, she started to scream herself hoarse.
This time her tones travelled. Suddenly the vehicle ceased to move. An answering shout came back to her:--
"Who's there? What's the matter with you?"
The accent was broad Scotch. Had it been the purest Cockney it could not have seemed more welcome. She replied to the inquiry:--
"I've sprained my ankle so that I can hardly move".
This time in the other voice there was an unmistakable suggestion of surprise.
"Is it a woman?"
"Yes."