about two o'clock in the morning
The dumb old man stood on the threshold , gazing at his averted face and downcast head , and an inarticulate cry of mingled rage and grief broke from his silent lips , such as Phebe herself had never heard before , and which , years afterward , sounded at times in Roland Sefton 's ears . It was nearly ten o'clock before they were on the road , old Marlowe marching at the head of his horse , and Phebe mounted on her wiry little pony , while Roland Sefton rode in front of the wagon at times . Their progress was slow , for the oak furniture was heavy and the roads were rough , leading across the moor and down steep hills into valleys , with equally steep hills on the other side . The sky was covered with a thin mist drifting slowly before the wind , and when the moon shone through it , about two o'clock in the morning , it was the waning-moon looking sad and forlorn amid the floating vapor . The houses they passed were few and far between , showing no light or sign of life . All the land lay around them dark and desolate under the midnight sky ; and the slow creaking of the wheels and sluggish hoof-beats of the horse dragging the wagon were the only sounds that broke the stillness . In this gloom old Marlowe could hold no conversation either with Phebe or Roland Sefton , but from time to time they could hear him sob aloud as he trudged on in his speechless isolation .