Sometimes the echoes seemed to mock her, but she would not be dismayed.

It might be a help to Bertrand, and it certainly helped herself.
A long time passed, how long she had not the vaguest notion.

Cinders, grown tired of his own impatience, rested his chin on her shoulder and went phlegmatically to sleep, secure in her assurance that there was nothing whatever to be afraid of.

Small creature though he was, her arms ached from holding him, yet she would not let him go, he was too precious for that; and each minute that passed, so she told herself, brought the end of her vigil nearer.
Her heart was like lead within her, but she would not give way to despair.

He was bound to come in the end.
And come in the end he did, but not till her hopes had sunk so low that when she heard the first faint sound of his returning feet she would not believe her ears.