Fourteen minutes past one
There was just time enough to plunge aside , to leap a fence into a rain-soaked pasture ; and there I crouched , the water squishing over my dancing-shoes , while with a flare , a slant of rain , and a glimpse of flogging drivers , two hackney carriages pelted by at a gallop . I pulled out my watch . A fickle ray -- the merest filtration of moonlight -- glimmered on the dial . Fourteen minutes past one ! `` Past yin o'clock , and a dark , haary moarnin ' . '' I recalled the bull voice of the watchman as he had called it on the night of our escape from the Castle -- its very tones : and this echo of memory seemed to strike and reverberate the hour closing a long day of fate . Truly , since that night the hands had run full circle , and were back at the old starting-point .