midnight
A dark , dreamy silence wraps the cottage in its soft embrace , the moon , clear and full , sails tranquilly through the star-sown heavens , and the sweet scent of distant orange groves is wafted through the midnight breeze . Yet the dark-cloaked figure that walks quickly and softly up the graveled walk sees none of the soft , calm beauty of the still summer night . She raises the brass knocker with a quick , imperative touch . After a wait of perhaps ten minutes or so Septima answers the summons , but the candle she holds nearly drops from her hands as she beholds the face of her midnight visitor in the dim , uncertain flickering glare of the candle-light . `` Miss Pluma , '' she exclaims , in amazement , `` is there any one ill at the Hall ? '' `` No ! '' replies Pluma , in a low , soft , guarded whisper .