midnight
Before it grew quite dark this audible hush was twice broken by the plaintive note of a hermit thrush -- a bird so shy that he leaves his mate , seeking his hermitage among forgotten places . The place was inanimate -- dead like the trees -- their skeletons rising weirdly from the spongy moss . The moon rose at length , seemingly shedding its light over the desolate spot out of pity . Again Alice Thayor lay awake until long past midnight . The very desolation fascinated her . Again she thought of Sperry , and again her face flamed with indignation -- in fact , he had seldom been clear of her mind , try as she might to banish him . She wondered if he would have roughed it with the grit her husband had shown .