ten o'clock
Cicely sat by the fire in her chintz-hung bedroom , leaning back against the flowered cushion of the big armchair , gazing into the flames . In the next room she could hear vague sounds of Alan 's preparations , feet going to and fro , a door opening and closing , a pair of heavy boots dropped upon the floor . The night was dark outside , with a blustering wind and occasional flurries of snow that struck sharply against the window . It was ten o'clock . The sounds had ceased as though Alan had finished making ready and was waiting , perhaps sitting silent in the dark , perhaps lying down for an hour or two of sleep before the fateful hour of the high tide . Cicely heard her father , below , barring the door , putting out the candles , making ready for a night that would surely bring him no sleep . Presently he passed her door , glanced inside , and came in to stand for a minute beside her fire .