ten o'clock
`` By the bones of Hymen ! '' said Roger . `` You 're right ! '' It must have been ten o'clock when we turned in at the red gate of Sabine Farm . The rain had stopped , but the wheels sloshed through mud and water at every turn . The light was burning in the sitting-room , and through the window I could see Andrew bent over his work table . We climbed out , stiff and sore from the long ride .