two o'clock
But if Lydia 's life was limited , what of Mary , whose brain was so active that merely to read of great and successful deeds tortured her like a pain ? Just to have a little share of the world 's work , just to dig and water the tiniest garden , just to be able to fill a glass for herself with water , or to make a pudding , or to wash up the breakfast dishes , would have been to her the most exquisite delight in the world . As it was she lay still , reading , sometimes writing a letter , or copying something for Lydia , always eager for a game of `` Halma '' or `` Parchesi , '' a greater part of the time out of pain , and for a certain part of the twenty-four hours tortured by the slow-creeping agonies that waited for her like beasts in the darkness of every night . Sometimes Susan , rousing from the deep delicious sleep that always befriended her , would hear in the early morning , rarely earlier than two o'clock or later than four , the hoarse call in the front room , `` Lyddie ! Lyddie ! '' and the sleepy answer and stumbling feet of the younger sister , as she ran for the merciful pill that would send Miss Mary , spent with long endurance , into deep and heavenly sleep . Susan had two or three times seen the cruel trial of courage that went before the pill , the racked and twisting body , the bitten lip , the tortured eyes on the clock .