midnight
It was not much more than a mile from Fareham House to that desolate bit of country betwixt Westminster and Chelsea , where the modern dairy-farm occupied the old monkish pastures . As Angela ran her boat inshore , she expected to see Venetian lanterns , and to hear music and voices , and all the indications of a gay assembly ; but there were only silence and darkness , save for one lighted window in the dairyman 's dwelling-house , and she thought that she had come upon a futile errand , and had been mistaken in her conjectures . She moored her boat to the wooden landing-stage , and went on shore to examine the premises . The revelry might be designed for a later hour , though it was now near midnight , and Lady Sarah 's party had assembled at eleven . She walked across a meadow , where the dewy grass was cool under her feet , and so to the open space in front of the dairyman 's house -- a shabby building attached like a wen to the ruined refectory . She started at hearing the snort of a horse , and the jingling of bit and curb-chain , and came suddenly upon a coach-and-four , with a couple of post-boys standing beside their team . `` Whose coach is this ? ''