The wind had died down.

Jean was already busy over the cook-fire, and in Josephine's tent he saw the light of a candle.

She appeared a little later, wrapped close in a thick red Hudson's Bay coat, and with a marten-skin cap on her head.
Something in her first appearance, the picturesqueness of her dress, the jauntiness of the little cap, and the first flush of the fire in her face filled him with the hope that sleep had given her better spirit.

A closer glance dashed this hope.

Without questioning her he knew that she had spent another night of mental torture.