ten o'clock
And off set Mac-Cailen Mor , the noble , the august , the man of silk and steel , whom 't was Simon MacTaggart 's one steadfast ambition in life to resemble even in a remote degree . And then we have the Chamberlain in his turret room , envious of that blissful married man , and warmed to a sympathetic glow with Olivia floating through the images that rose before him . He drew the curtains of his window and looked in that direction where Doom , of course , was not for material eyes , finding a vague pleasure in building up the picture of the recluse tower , dark upon its promontory . It was ten o'clock . It had been arranged at their last meeting that without the usual signal he should go to her to-night before twelve . Already his heart beat quickly ; his face was warm and tingling with pleasant excitation , he felt a good man . `` By God ! ''