midnight
Ever mingling with his thoughts came the sweet , tear-wet face of Gila , with its Solveig-look , pleading up at him from the mist of the evening , luring him as it were to forget the Christ . He passed his hand wearily over his eyes , told himself that he had been through a good deal that evening and his nerves were not as strong as they used to be since the fire . He was surprised to find that it was still early when he got back to his room , barely half past nine . Yet it had seemed as if it must be near midnight , so much had happened . What he would have thought if he could have known that at that very minute Tennelly was seated in the chair in the library that he had so lately vacated , and Gila , posing bewitchingly in the firelight , merrily talking him over , is hard to say . Not that they were saying anything against him -- of course not ! Tennelly would never have stood for that , and Gila knew better .