It got dark before she finished, but Bob did not come, and she went outside again.
The night was clear and refreshingly cold after the scorching day.

The wind had dropped, everything was very quiet, and she could see for some distance across the plain.

The hollows were picked out by belts of darker shadow, and the scattered bluffs made dim gray blurs, but nothing moved on the waste, and she did not hear the beat of hoofs she listened for.
For a time she sat still, lost in gloomy thought.

Bob's relapse had been a bitter disappointment, because she had begun to hope that the danger of his resuming his former habits was past.

He had stuck to his work, which seemed to absorb his interest, and had looked content.