twelve o'clock
I draw the veil upon it . For all the gold that the sea washes to-day in Czerny 's house , I could not look upon such a picture again . For death can be a gentle thing ; but there is a death no man may speak of . * * * At twelve o'clock the clouds broke and the rain began to fall upon a rising sea . The vapours still lay thick upon Ken 's Island , but the wind was driving them , and they rolled away in misty clouds westward to the dark horizon . I went below to little Ruth , and in broken words I told her all my story . `` Little Ruth , the night is passed , the day is breaking !