three o’clock
in the morning
The power and gloom of Andrew 's narrative held him in a vice , and then he was searching for a clue in the labyrinth of words . At last he came to the final paragraph , and then to the final sentence : `` But at length he laid his hand upon the door that divided him from Fate . '' Henley put the sheet down carefully upon the table . It was three o'clock in the morning , and the room seemed full of a strange , breathless cold , the peculiar chilliness that precedes the dawn . The fire was burning brightly enough , yet the warmth it emitted scarcely seemed to combat the frosty air that penetrated from without , and Henley shivered as he rose from his seat . His brows were drawn together , and he was thinking deeply . A light seemed slowly struggling into his soul .