about ten o'clock
The people in whose house he had taken shelter for the night , had him at once conveyed to the infirmary , where for eight weeks he lay dangerously ill ; a relapse of his malady , on the day before he was to be pronounced convalescent , occurred , and the third month was nigh its close , ere Owen left the hospital . It was more than a week ere he could proceed on his journey , which he did at last , moving only a few miles each day , and halting before nightfall . Thus wearily plodding on , he reached Liverpool at last , and about the middle of January arrived in his native country once more . His strength regained , his bodily vigour restored , he had made a long day 's journey to reach home , and it was about ten o'clock of a bright and starry night that he crossed the mountains that lie between Ballinrobe and Maam . To Owen , the separation from his home seemed like a thing of years long ; and his heart was full to bursting as each well-remembered spot appeared , bringing back a thousand associations of his former life . As he strode along he stopped frequently to look down towards the village , where , in each light that twinkled , he could mark the different cabins of his old friends . At length , the long low farmhouse of the Joyces came into view -- he could trace it by the line of light that glittered from every window -- and from this , Owen could not easily tear himself away .