about five o'clock
The afternoon closed in coldly and mournfully . A steady weeping drizzle of rain set in . Some of the hunters returned through St. Rest by twos and threes , looking in a woeful condition , bespattered up to their saddles with mud , and feeling , no doubt , more or less out of temper , as notwithstanding a troublesome and fatiguing run , the fox had escaped them after all . It was about five o'clock , when Walden , having passed a quiet day among his books , and having felt the sense of a greater peace and happiness at his heart than he had been conscious of since the May-day morning of the year , pushed aside his papers , rose from his chair , and , looking out at the dreary weather , wondered if the ` Guinevere ' of the hunt had got safely home from her gallop across country . `` She will be wet through , '' -- he thought , -- the tender smile that made his face so lovable playing softly round his lips -- `` But she will not mind that ! She will laugh , and brush out her pretty hair all ruffled and wet with the rain , -- her cheeks will be glowing with colour , and her lips will be as red as the cherries when they first begin to ripen , -- her eyes will be bright with health and vitality , -- and life - - young life -- life full of joy and hope and brightness will radiate from her as the light radiates from the sun . And I shall bask in the luminance of her smile -- I , cold and grey , like a burnt-out ember of perished possibilities , -- I shall warm my chill soul at the sweet fire of her presence -- I shall see her to-morrow ! ''