midnight
The priest laid his hand on his shoulder , and the ghost of a smile flickered across his pale countenance . Many a poor wretch had found that smile a herald of tragedy . Such it now appeared to the hapless owner of Dean Tower . '' 'T is past midnight , my son , '' said Jerome . Windybank made no reply . The grip on his shoulder tightened with a startling suddenness . '' 'T is past midnight , my son . ''