Twelve o'clock
The square had become very silent . The last homeless loiterer had been driven away by the grey-coated park policeman , the car tracks along Wooster Street were deserted , and the only sound which broke the stillness was the stamping of the sentry 's horse and the ring of his sabre against the saddle pommel . In the barracks , the officers ' quarters were still lighted , and military servants passed and repassed before the bay windows . Twelve o'clock sounded from the new spire of St. Francis Xavier , and at the last stroke of the sad-toned bell a figure passed through the wicket beside the portcullis , returned the salute of the sentry , and crossing the street entered the square and advanced toward the Benedick apartment house . `` Louis , '' I called . The man pivoted on his spurred heels and came straight toward me . `` Is that you , Hildred ? ''