four o'clock
A silence in the heavens , the rack stand still , The bold wind speechless , and the orb below Is hushed as death . '' Just now that `` boding silence reigns . '' A sense of fear falls on Joyce , she scarcely knows why , as her companion , with a quick lash of the whip , urges the horse up the steep hill . They are still several miles from their destination , and , though it is only four o'clock , it is no longer day . The heavens are black as ink , the trees are shivering in expectant misery . `` What is it ? '' says Joyce , and even as she asks the question it is answered .