twelve o'clock
The truth was , that John had the same instinctive antipathy against a house where there was an empty bottle as rats have against deserted granaries . But , if honest John Simson 's house was deserted because Jenny had made too free with the bottle , Wat Webster 's was full , from a reason precisely the very opposite ; for the fair Marion -- who had `` Brankit fast and made her bonny '' -- was , in the midst of a company , distributing the cakes and bannocks with maidenly grace ; and many a swain that night was glad , while `` He quhissilit and he pypit baith , To mak her blyth that meeting -- My hony heart , how says the sang , There sall be mirth at oor greeting . '' And among the rest might now be seen John Simson and his helpmate , and also Meg Johnston , who had been -- either in reality , or , at least , with semblance sufficient to form their apology for calling where there was plenty of drink -- smoked out of their own houses , amidst the cheers of the fire-imps . About this time , twelve o'clock was chimed from a rough-voiced bell of the Franciscan Monastery ; and , some time after , in came Christy Lowrie , puffing and blowing , as if she too had experienced the effects of the thick breath of the fire-imps ; and it might have been a fair presumption that her throat , like that of some of her predecessors , had been dried from pre-perceived gusts of Wat Webster 's whisky rather than the smoke of the fire-angels , had it not been made quickly apparent , from other symptoms , that a horripilant terror had seized her heart and limbs , and inspired her tongue with the dry rattle of fearful intelligence . Never stopping till she got forward into the very heart of the company , seated round a blazing ingle , she sank upon a chair , and held up her hands to heaven , as if calling down from that quarter some supernatural agency to help in her difficulty . Every one turned and looked at her with wonder , mixed with sympathetic fear . `` What , in God 's name , is this , Christy ?