midnight
I answer , `` Nothing ! '' It is the truth . _ Monday . At midnight . _ We are still upon the rock and the shadows engulf us . The lad at my side , sick with waiting , has curled himself up upon a bed of stone and is half asleep ; Seth Barker leans against a crag like some figure hewn out of granite ; old Clair-de-Lune is all hunched up as a bundle . Nevertheless , masterly eyes scan the lapping waters .