six in the morning
Sigurd alone was wakeful , -- he lay at the foot of one of the tallest pine-trees , and stared persistently at the radiant sky through the network of dark branches . Now and then he smiled as though he saw some beatific vision -- sometimes he plucked fitfully at the soft long moss on which he had made his couch , and sometimes he broke into a low , crooning song . God alone knew the broken ideas , the dim fancies , the half born desires , that glimmered like pale ghosts in the desert of his brain , -- God alone , in the great Hereafter , could solve the problem of his sorrows and throw light on his soul 's darkness . It was past six in the morning when he arose , and smoothing back his tangled locks , went to Thelma 's window and sat down beneath it , in mute expectancy . He had not long to wait , -- at the expiration of ten or fifteen minutes , the little lattice was thrown wide open , and the girl 's face , fresh as a rose , framed in a shower of amber locks , smiled down upon him . `` I am coming , Sigurd ! '' she cried softly and joyously .