midnight
August , 1918 . Dun was a hard little city , proud and harsh ; but impregnable because it was built upon a high rock . The host of the Visigoths had besieged it for months in vain . Then came a fugitive from the city , at midnight , to the tent of Alaric , the Chief of the besiegers . The man was haggard and torn . His eyes were wild , his hands trembling . The Chief held and steadied him with a look .