midnight
On a small sheet of tinted note-paper he wrote a few words , but they did not please him , and the page was thrown into the fire . He tried again , but with no better success -- again and again ; but still , as he looked at the brief sentences , they seemed to express too much or too little . Unable to pen the note to his satisfaction , he pushed , at last , his writing materials aside , saying , `` My head will be clearer and cooler in the morning . '' It was drawing on to midnight , and Mr. Emerson had not yet retired . His thoughts were too busy for sleep . Many things were crowding into his mind -- questions , doubts , misgivings -- scenes from the past and imaginations of the future . And amid them all came in now and then , just for a moment , as he had seen it five years before , the pale , still face of Irene .