eleven o'clock
`` It certainly seems useless , '' -- he admitted -- `` but there it is . It is better to accept it than run amok among inexplicable infinities . '' We were interrupted here by the sailors busying themselves in preparations for getting the yacht under way , and our conversation being thus broken off abruptly was not again resumed . By eleven o'clock we were steaming out of Loch Scavaig , and as I looked back on the sombre mountain-peaks that stood sentinel-wise round the deeply hidden magnificence of Loch Coruisk , I wondered if my visionary experience there had been only the work of my own excited imagination , or whether it really had foundation in fact ? The letter from Santoris lay against my heart as actual testimony that he at least was real -- that I had met and known him , and that so far as anything could be believed he had declared himself my ` lover ' ! But was ever love so expressed ? -- and had it ever before such a far-off beginning ?