The houses they passed were few and far between, showing no light or sign of life.

All the land lay around them dark and desolate under the midnight sky; and the slow creaking of the wheels and sluggish hoof-beats of the horse dragging the wagon were the only sounds that broke the stillness.
In this gloom old Marlowe could hold no conversation either with Phebe or Roland Sefton, but from time to time they could hear him sob aloud as he trudged on in his speechless isolation.

It was a sad sound, which pierced them to the heart.

From time to time Roland Sefton walked up the long hills beside Phebe's pony, pouring out his whole heart to her.

They could hardly see each other's faces in the dimness, and words came the more readily to him.