six o'clock
While Elbridge was still tucking the robes about their legs , Northwick drove away from the station , and through the village up to the rim of the highland that lies between Hatboro ' and South Hatboro ' . The bare line cut along the horizon where the sunset lingered in a light of liquid crimson , paling and passing into weaker violet tints with every moment , but still tenderly flushing the walls of the sky , and holding longer the accent of its color where a keen star had here and there already pierced it and shone quivering through . The shortest days were past , but in the first week of February they had not lengthened sensibly , though to a finer perception there was the promise of release from the winter dark , if not from the winter cold . It was not far from six o'clock when Northwick mounted the southward rise of the street ; it was still almost light enough to read ; and the little slender black figure of a man that started up in the middle of the road , as if it had risen out of the ground , had an even vivid distinctness . He must have been lying in the snow ; the horses crouched back with a sudden recoil , as if he had struck them back with his arm , and plunged the runners of the cutter into the deeper snow beside the beaten track . He made a slight pause , long enough to give Northwick a contemptuous glance , and then continued along the road at a leisurely pace to the deep cut through the snow from the next house . Here he stood regarding such difficulty as Northwick had in quieting his horses , and getting underway again .