four o'clock
Ringfield held his breath , but had enough sense to lie down again in the straw , and feign slumber ; happily the priest did not concern himself with the loft , but the absence of the bird he had expected to find , caged and waiting , seemed to mystify him . He remained for several minutes lost in thought , then setting the lantern on one box , moved others around , strewed them with a thick layer of hay he found on the floor , and lying down with his cloak pulled well over him , settled to a night 's rest . Ringfield , thus imprisoned , passed for his part a miserable night ; he dared not move and his excited brain kept him from sleeping . Towards four o'clock the lantern flickered out ; at six , while it was yet dark , the priest arose and went his way , and an hour later Ringfield also retraced his steps to the village . Like a man in an exceedingly unpleasant , but most distinct dream , he found himself bound in a net of intrigue from which there seemed no chance of escape . It was Sunday morning and at eleven he would have to take charge of the service and address the usual congregation as Father Rielle had already partly done , the early mass at St. Jean Baptiste-on-the-Hill being held at half past seven . The road between the grim leafless trees was now swept clean of both snow and hail by the streams of heavy rain which had poured the previous night , and the air was mild .