ten o'clock
Walking slowly to the tavern my mind still went back to my little playmate and the golden days of youth , and if my heart grew a little tenderer , and my eyes were moistened by the recall , what need to be ashamed of the emotion ? And if in the night I dreamed that I was a boy again , and that a fair-haired child played with me in the changing glow of dreamland in the best and purest scenes of the human comedy , was it a delusion to be dispelled , a memory to be put aside ? Did I remember Sylvia ? The thought that my train was to leave at ten o'clock did not depress me as I awoke , with the sunlight streaming through the window , for , after all , I was obliged to admit that the monotony of Meadowvale and the sluggishness of my village friends were beginning to have an appreciable effect . Then the memory of little Sylvia came to me again , and nothing seemed pleasanter , as a benediction to the old days , than a visit to the burying-ground where she was sleeping . The previous day I had paid the obligations of remembrance and respect to the graves of my kindred , and it gave me at first an uncomfortable feeling to realize that the thought of them was less potent than the recollection of this young girl . But was it strange or inexcusable ?