noon
The first agonies of the encounter of life and death were over , and life was slowly wasting away . Oh what might not a little joy do for him ! But where was the joy to be found that could irradiate such a darkness even for one fair memorial moment ? One hot noon Wingfold lay beside him on the grass . Neither had spoken for some time : the curate more and more shrunk from speech to which his heart was not directly moved . As to what might be in season or out of season , he never would pretend to judge , he said , but even Balaam 's ass knew when he had a call to speak . He plucked a pale red pimpernel and handed it up over his head to Leopold .