noon
For the first mile from the town they were not much hindered by the darkness , and my father told George about his book and many another matter ; he also promised George to say nothing about this second visit . Then the road became more rough , and when it dwindled away to be a mere lane -- becoming presently only a foot track -- they had to mind their footsteps , and got on but slowly . The night was starlit , and warm , considering that they were more than three thousand feet above the sea , but it was very dark , so that my father was well enough pleased when George showed him the white stones that marked the boundary , and said they had better soon make themselves as comfortable as they could till morning . `` We can stay here , '' he said , `` till half-past three , there will be a little daylight then ; we will rest half an hour for breakfast at about five , and by noon we shall be at the statues , where we will dine . '' This being settled , George rolled himself up in his rug , and in a few minutes went comfortably off to sleep . Not so my poor father . He wound up his watch , wrapped his rug round him , and lay down ; but he could get no sleep .