ten o'clock
Before her was the dream of glory ; behind her , the dreary forgetfulness of the past . Hour after hour whiled away . The tiny lights in the natives ' shacks along the opposite shore began to go out and grow fewer and fewer until the closing day had died safely away into the solemn night . As usual , `` taps '' were blown at ten o'clock and things on the island grew very quiet . Days -- yes , weeks -- seemed to crowd themselves into those long hours . Would he ever come ? Presently she heard the sentry 's shrill cry on the brow of the hill , `` Twelve o'clock !