three o'clock
His wood was soon burnt out : only red coals in the bottom of the grate then , and these fast whitening . More than once he strode across and stood over his trunk in the shadowy corner -- looking down at his books -- those books that had guided him thus far , or misguided him , who can say ? When his candle gave out and later his fire , he jerked off his clothes and getting into bed , rolled himself in the bedclothes and lay listening to the mournful sublimity of the storm . Toward three o'clock the weather grew colder , the wind died down , the booming ceased ; and David , turning wearily , over , with an impulse to prayer , but with no prayer , went to sleep . When David awoke late and drowsily the next morning after the storm , he lay awhile , listening . No rending , crashing , booming in the woods now , nor rattling of his window-frames . No contemplative twitter of winter birds about the cedars in the yard , nor caw of crow , crossing the house chimneys toward the corn shocks .