the hour of twelve
It was a sulphurously hot night in July . The air was like the breath of a furnace , and it was a hard matter to sleep with even the easiest mind and under the most favorable circumstances . The full moon shone in through the open window , laying a white square of light upon the floor , and Hiram , as he paced up and down , up and down , walked directly through it , his gaunt figure starting out at every turn into sudden brightness as he entered the straight line of misty light . The clock in the kitchen whirred and rang out the hour of twelve , and Hiram stopped in his walk to count the strokes . The last vibration died away into silence , and still he stood motionless , now listening with a new and sudden intentness , for , even as the clock rang the last stroke , he heard soft , heavy footsteps , moving slowly and cautiously along the pathway before the house and directly below the open window . A few seconds more and he heard the creaking of rusty hinges . The mysterious visitor had entered the mill .