five o'clock
White , cold , with the last struggle fixed on its features and open eyes , it was my own dead face that stared up at me ! They found me , next morning , lying on the brink of the tarn , and carried me back to the inn . There I lay for weeks in a brain fever and talked -- as they assure me -- the wildest nonsense . The landlord had first guessed that something was amiss on finding the front door open when he came down at five o'clock . I must have turned to the left on leaving the house , travelled up the road for a hundred yards , and then struck almost at right angles across the moor . One of my shoes was found a furlong from the highway , and this had guided them . Of course they found no coffin beside me , and I was prudent enough to hold my tongue when I became convalescent .