the hour of two
Suddenly I was awakened by the impression of having heard a sound . I looked round me , half dazed still from my dreams . The fire had died down , and I had left myself with no other light . Only a ruddy glow lingered on the hearth , and a small clock on the mantelpiece just above lightly chimed out the hour of two . I must have dreamed the sound , I told myself , for all was silent in the sleeping hotel , and even the rattle of cabs outside was dulled . Still , the impression lingered , and I could hardly persuade myself that I had not heard Harvey Farnham 's voice calling my name , and finishing with a gurgling , despairing cry for help , the horror of which had chilled the blood in my veins , even in my sleep . Though the fire was dead , the room was still warm , and I hardly knew why I should be so cold .