midnight
And she motioned him away with her face hidden and sobbed , `` No -- I know it . '' He paused a moment on the step before her and then said , `` Good-by , Molly -- I 'm going now . '' And she heard him walking down the yard on the grass , so that his footsteps would not arouse the house . It seemed to them both that it was midnight , but time had moved slowly , and when the spent , broken woman crept into the house , and groped her way to her room , she did not make a light , but slipped into bed without looking at her scarred , shameful face . In the sunshine of that era of world-wide prosperity in the eighties , John Barclay made much hay . He spent little time in Sycamore Ridge , and his private car might be found in Minnesota to-day and at the end of the week in California . As president of the Corn Belt Road and as controlling director in the North Lake Line , he got rates on other railroads for his grain products that no competitor could duplicate .