noon
There was purpose in it , or I am greatly mistaken . Mr. Man 's eyes would be worth looking into , if one could find purpose in their brown depths ! Moreover , though I am too notorious a dreamer of dreams to be trusted , I can not help fancying he went _ back _ to something ; it was not a mere forward move , not a sudden determination to find some new duty to do that life might grow nobler and sweeter , but a return to an old duty grown hateful . That was what I saw in his face as he stood on the crossing , with the noon sunshine caught in his tawny hair and beard . Rhoda , Edith , and I have each made a story about him , and each of us would vouch for the truth of her particular version . I will not tell mine , but this is Rhoda 's ; and while it differs from my own in several important particulars , it yet bears an astonishing resemblance to it . It is rather romantic , but if one is to make any sort of story out of the Solitary it must be a romantic one , for he suggests no other .