eleven
o'clock
Joan had retired and refused consolation . The glory of splendid summer hours passed away ; the long twilight sank to darkness ; the opal lights in the west at last died under the silver of the moon . And then , like a child weary with crying , Joan slept , while Mary , creeping a third time to see and speak with her , departed silently . But she did not sleep ; and her wakefulness was fortunate , for long after eleven o'clock came a noisy summons at the outer door . Looking from her room which faced the front of the house , the woman saw Tom with his full basket standing clearly defined below . The world of the weald and woods shimmered silvery in dew and moonlight . Infinite silence reigned .