the hour
of nine
She always will be . Good-by . '' She was gone , and the house seemed bigger and emptier after she had left it . But Archibald Wingate would not have had anybody know with what almost childish anxiety he waited the striking of the clock , as the hour of nine drew near . He had been judged a hard and bitter man . He was very human , after all . The small brown hand of his young cousin was pointing a new , strange way , wherein he might happily walk , and in secret he blessed her for it .