How would he come?
or would he come at all?
These were the questions that agitated her soul.

The sad, troubled humiliating, suffering past, how its records of sorrow and shame and fear kept unrolling themselves before her eyes! There was little if anything in these records to give hope or comfort.

Ah! how many times had he fallen from his high estate of manhood, each time sinking lower and lower, and each time recovering himself from the fall with greater difficulty than before! He might never rise again.

The chances were largely against him.
How the wretched woman longed for yet dreaded the return of her husband! If he had been drinking again, as she feared, there, was before her a night of anguish and terror--a night which might have for her no awaking in the world.

But she had learned to dread some things more than death.
Time wore on until it was past the hour for General Abercrombie's return, and yet there was no sign of his coming.