about
three in the morning
A neighbouring church clock struck the hours solemnly one after another -- ten , eleven , twelve ! No Mr. Stanford yet , but that was nothing new . As midnight , struck , Rose got up , secured the door , and going into an inner room , flung herself , dressed as she was , on the bed , and fell into the heavy , dreamless sleep of exhaustion . She slept so soundly that she never heard a key turn in the lock , about three in the morning , or a man 's unsteady step crossing the floor . The lamp still burning on the table , enabled Mr. Reginald Stanford to see what he was about , otherwise , serious consequences might have ensued . For Mr. Stanford was not quite steady on his legs , and lurched as he walked , as if his wife 's sitting-room had been the deck of a storm-tossed vessel . `` I s ` pose she 's gone to bed , '' muttered Mr. Stanford , hiccoughing .