the automobile had passed, her heart was pounding hard. This wasn't a road where women were often found walking alone, she imagined. Vague fears took possession of her. Still she pushed on, ears and eyes alert, stopping every now and then to listen and darting quickly out of sight into a dark shadow at every sound that might prove to be an automobile.
Once the sudden flash of the headlight of an automobile from behind caught her before she had a chance to retreat, and the car itself was beside her, and had slipped past, in an instant. When she observed it slow down, fifty yards or so in front of her, and stop, she stood still in her tracks a second, and contemplated plunging into the dense woods. For whoever was driving the car had reversed his engine, and Reba observed that its tail-light was slowly approaching her. Panic-stricken, she stood her ground, however, and waited.
"Can't we give you a lift?" a man's voice suddenly called out, when within speaking distance.
Somehow Reba managed a controlled reply. "No, thank you."
"Better let us."
"No, thank you."
"Just to the state-road?"
"No, thank you," still she insisted. And finally, oh, finally—she heard the relieving sound of grinding gears, and the car moved away.
It was after that, that she wondered if, after all, the dark tangle of underbrush and trees, through which the road was cut, would not prove safer. If only she had enough courage to brave the solitude of some secluded copse, until dawn, her common-sense told her, that nothing would molest her in the woods. But after
