midnight
Anne stood , a silent listener , on the edge of the magic circle . She had just risen from the piano , where for the past hour or more she had been striving to forget the fever that burned within . Now at last she had relinquished the piteous , vain attempt , and utterly wearied she stood drinking in the spring sweetness . It was drawing towards midnight , and all but herself had retired . She knew she ought to bolt the window and go to rest also ; only she knew , too , that no rest awaited her . The silver peace into which she gazed was like balm to her tired spirit , but yet she could only stand , as it were , upon the edge . A great longing was upon her , a voiceless , indescribable desire , that made within her so deep a restlessness that no outside influence seemed able to touch it .