about
ten o'clock
said my cousin , Nelly Laurie , a girl of eighteen , to me , when my years could be reckoned by the number of the muses . `` What ! what is it ! '' I exclaimed ; and my attention was directed towards a moss , or morass , through which our footpath lay , on our way home , about ten o'clock of a dark , damp , and cloudy night . `` There ! there it 's again ! '' There is something in the word `` it '' most indefinitely terrific .