nine o'clock
The young man gently closed the door and went his way . He need not have left the house so quietly . The Rector got no sleep that evening . The church clock of Upcote Minor was just striking nine o'clock as Richard Meynell , a few hours later than the conversation just recorded , shut the Rectory gate behind him , and took his way up the village . The night was cold and gusty . The summer this year had forgotten to be balmy , and Meynell , who was an ardent sun-lover , shivered as he walked along , buttoning a much-worn parson 's coat against the sharp air . Before him lay the long , straggling street , with its cottages and small shops , its post-office , and public-houses , and its occasional gentlefolks ' dwellings , now with a Georgian front plumb on the street , and now hidden behind walls and trees .