She had kept to the main road because she did not wish to lose time, perhaps return upon her path, in the confusion of the darkness.
Now she began to look about her at the country.

It was still the hills as round Zeke Warham's--the hills of southeastern Indiana.
But they were steeper and higher, for she was moving toward the river.

There was less open ground, more and denser undergrowth and forest.

She felt that she was in a wilderness, was safe.
Night still lay too thick upon the landscape for her to distinguish anything but outlines.

She sat down on the ruined and crumbling panel of a zigzag fence to rest and to wait for light.