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. "I don't blame you, madam, for whatever thoughts you may have. I have traveled so fast and so far that I am really dazed. But if you will kindly tell me where we are, in what country, state, province or territory,--anything--it will be doing me a great service." In a constrained voice, and in a tone which made it reasonably clear that this conversation was affording her little pleasure, she replied: "We are near the city of Worcester, in England." For a moment he stood in silence. Then, with a certain weariness in his voice, "Thank you. I hope you will pardon my disturbing you." "Certainly." Again he moved away. This man's voice stirred memories. But these memories--of some far-away past--were dim and elusive. Vainly she tried to recall either when or where she had known the voice. Just as he was turning from the bar of light to disappear into the outer gloom, there came to her a gleam of memory from the distant past. Quickly she stood up in the car, her lips parted to call aloud. But she hesitated. A mistake, under present conditions, might prove more than awkward. So she uttered no sound. The stranger, however, as if responding to the unuttered words--to the thought itself--turned about and came toward the car. He walked quickly, but with the same unsteadiness as when he first appeared; and always with a hand before his eyes to shut out the blinding glare of the headlight. When alongside the car, again invisible in the darkness, he said: "Yes, I am Drowsy. Who calls me?" She was startled as she realized, in a kind of terror, that the unspoken message must have reached him. However, she answered, simply: "Ruth Heywood." With an exclamation of surprise and joy he opened the door, climbed in and seated himself beside her. "Oh, this is too good!" In the darkness he groped about and they managed to shake hands. "Why, Ruth, this is hard to believe!"