nine o'clock
He conceived the idea that he might kill the Captain-General of Spain in Cuba , shoot him from the step of his carriage and cry that it was a memorial of the innocent boys he had murdered . Andrés dissuaded him ; it would , he said , only make the conditions of living more difficult , harsh , put off the other , the final , consummation . Below , on the promenade , the rows of gas lamps shone wanly through the close leaves of the India laurels ; there was a ceaseless sauntering throng of men ; then , from the Plaza de Armas , there was the hollow rattat of drums , of tattoo . It was nine o'clock . The night was magnificent , and Charles Abbott was choked by his emotions ; it seemed to him that his heart must burst with its expanding desire of heroic good . He had left the earth for cloudy glories , his blood turned to a silver essence distilled in ethereal honor ; he was no longer a body , but a vow , a purpose . One thing , in a surpassing humility , he decided , and turned to Andrés .