There was still a faint glow in the western heaven.

On the plain were a few scattered lights, fires lit, perhaps, by wandering herdsmen against malaria.

On the far edge of the land to the south-west, a revolving light flashed its message to the Mediterranean and the passing ships.

Otherwise, not a sign of life.

Below, a vast abyss of shadow swallowed up the olive-garden, the road, and the lower slopes of the hills.
Eleanor felt herself leaning out above the world, alone with her agony and the balmy peace which mocked it.