midnight
I love him , and that is enough ? '' The long night passed away , as all nights , however long and dark they may be , will pass away . Margie had not slept . She had paced her chamber until long after midnight , utterly disregarding Alexandrine , who had knocked repeatedly at her door , and at last , overcome by weariness , she had sunk down in a chair by the open window , and sat there , gazing blankly out into the night , with its purple heavens , and its glory of sparkling stars . Nothing could have tempted Margie to have credited such a story of her lover , had it not been for the overwhelming evidence of her own senses . Ever since the night of Paul Linmere 's assassination , she had at times been tortured with agonizing doubts . From the first she had been morally sure whose lips had touched her hand that night in the graveyard ; she knew that no other presence than that of Archer Trevlyn had the power to influence her as she had been influenced .