midnight
The last words he said to me were , `` Burn my papers , -- all that you can find in yonder escritoire ; for I fear there are some there which you may be betrayed into publishing . I have published enough ; as for the old disconnected journal in your possession -- '' But here my poor friend was checked in his utterance by that same hollow cough which would never let him alone . So he coughed himself tired , and sank to slumber . I watched from that midnight hour till high noon on the morrow for his waking . The chamber was dark ; till , longing for light , I opened the window-shutter , and the broad day looked in on the marble features of the dead . I religiously obeyed his instructions with regard to the papers in the escritoire , and burned them in a heap without looking into one , though sorely tempted . But the old journal I kept .