The river stretched out straight before us in the twilight for about a mile; not a ghost of a lock was to be seen.
"You don't think we have lost our way, do you ?" asked my companion.
I did not see how that was possible; though, as I suggested, we might have somehow got into the weir stream, and be making for the falls.
This idea did not comfort her in the least, and she began to cry.

She said we should both be drowned, and that it was a judgment on her for coming out with me.
It seemed an excessive punishment, I thought; but my cousin thought not, and hoped it would all soon be over.
I tried to reassure her, and to make light of the whole affair.

I said that the fact evidently was that I was not rowing as fast as I fancied I was, but that we should soon reach the lock now; and I pulled on for another mile.
Then I began to get nervous myself.

I looked again at the map.

There was Wallingford lock, clearly marked, a mile and a half below Benson's.
It was a good, reliable map; and, besides, I recollected the lock myself.
I had been through it twice.