five minutes past nine
`` I am sure I may . God bless you , my dear . '' For the second time that night Robert Audley pressed his lips to his cousin 's candid forehead , and for the second time the embrace was of a brotherly or paternal character , rather than the rapturous proceeding which it would have been had Sir Harry Towers been the privileged performer . It was five minutes past nine when Sir Michael came down-stairs , followed by his valet , grave and gray-haired like himself . The baronet was pale , but calm and self-possessed . The hand which he gave to his nephew was as cold as ice , but it was with a steady voice that he bade the young man good-by . `` I leave all in your hands , Robert , '' he said , as he turned to leave the house in which he had lived so long .