the hour of
twelve
She leaned forward , for it seemed to her there was a stir among the trees ; it was only some night bird in quest of its prey . Again she bent her head ; surely , at last , there was the click of the gate . But no ; it was only the swaying of the branches in the wind . Then clear and full and distinct , cleaving the air , rang out the hour of twelve ; it was midnight , and he had not come . The thirtieth of June was over , and he had failed . One by one she counted those strokes as they fell , in the vain hope that she must be mistaken , that it was only eleven . When she realized it she rose from her solitary watch with a long , low sigh .