ten o'clock
Lawrence devoted that evening to his letter . It was a long one , and was written with a most earnest desire to embrace all the merits of each of the two kinds of letters , which have before been alluded to , and to avoid all their faults . When it was finished , he read it , tore it up , and threw it in the fire . The next day opened bright and clear , and before ten o'clock , the thermometer had risen to seventy degrees . Instead of sitting in front of the fireplace , Lawrence had his chair and table brought close to his open doorway , where he could look out on the same beautiful scene which had greeted his eyes a few days before . `` But what is the good , '' he thought , `` of this green grass , this sunny air , that blue sky , those white clouds , and the distant tinted foliage , without that figure , which a few days ago stood in the foreground of the picture ? '' But , as the woman to whom , in his soul 's sight , the whole world was but a background , was not there , he turned his eyes from the warm autumnal scene , and prepared again to write to her .