about ten o'clock
She would have golden hair and blue eyes , and what she had called in one of her poems the `` tender gift of tears . '' He had always , in fancy , seen her dressed in blue , because that was his favorite color , though he reflected that he might as easily find her clad in white . It was only toward morning that he slept , his fiddle on the table now , but very near , as if they had shared a solemn vigil and it still knew how he might feel in dreams . It was about ten o'clock when he stopped at Marietta 's gate with the light wagon and sober white horse he had borrowed from Lote Purington , `` down the road . '' Marietta was ready at the door , a long white box in her hand . `` I been watching for you , '' she said . `` I went up attic , where I could see you turn the corner .