eight o’clock
From first to last '' -- and for the first time there seemed to be a faltering , something strained in his whisper . He caught hold of my arm , but the ringing of the supper bell made me start . He did n't , though ; he only released his grip . After supper I did n't come below again till well past eight o'clock . The faint , steady breeze was loaded with dew ; and the wet , darkened sails held all there was of propelling power in it . The night , clear and starry , sparkled darkly , and the opaque , lightless patches shifting slowly against the low stars were the drifting islets . On the port bow there was a big one more distant and shadowily imposing by the great space of sky it eclipsed .