five o'clock in the morning
`` Be quiet , Angela . Mr. Blakely , it is because this child 's father saw , and I heard of , that which makes you unworthy the faith of a young , pure-hearted girl . Who was the -- the creature to whom you opened your door last Wednesday midnight ? '' Kate Sanders , singing softly , blithely , came tripping along the major 's deserted veranda , her fresh young voice , glad , yet subdued , caroling the words of a dear old song that Parepa had made loved and famous full ten years before : `` And as he lingered by her side , In spite of his comrade 's warning The old , old story was told again At five o'clock in the morning . '' Then came sudden silence , as springing to the sandy ground , the singer reached the Wrens ' veranda and saw the dim form of Mr. Blakely , standing silently confronting a still dimmer form , faintly visible at the side window against the soft , tempered light of the hanging lamp in the hall . `` Who was the creature ? '' I repeat , were the strange words , in Miss Wren 's most telling tone , that brought Kate Sanders to a halt , startled , silent .