midnight
Falling to sleep again , he muttered : `` To-morrow , to-morrow -- Irene and glory . I have the promise of the stars . '' To Mahommed the morrow was obviously but a holiday which was bringing him the kingly part in a joyous game -- a holiday too slow in coming . About the third hour after midnight he was again awakened . A man stood by his cot imperfectly shading the light of a lamp with his hand . `` Prince of India ! '' exclaimed Mahommed , rising to a sitting posture .