midnight
Since then he had been walking with a ghost : the miserable ghost of his illusion . Only he had somehow vivified , coloured , substantiated it , by the force of his own great need -- as a man might breathe a semblance of life into a dear drowned body that he can not give up for dead . All this came to him with aching distinctness the morning after his talk with his wife on the stairs . He had accused himself , in midnight retrospect , of having failed to press home his conclusion because he dared not face the truth . But he knew this was not the case . It was not the truth he feared , it was another lie . If he had foreseen a chance of her saying : `` Yes , I was with Peter Van Degen , and for the reason you think , '' he would have put it to the touch , stood up to the blow like a man ; but he knew she would never say that .