ten o'clock
`` Poor Deborah , '' I said to Fred , `` she is all nerves , and the hand of life 's troubles is holding her ; surely she must be innocent of encouraging her lover in risking his life -- the only precious life left to her now ! '' `` And the jolly Andrew , '' said Fred , `` certainly looked the most amusing picture of innocence , as Cubbin trotted him along the grass ! But your theory of the somnambulant business is a bit fanciful , all the same . '' At ten o'clock that night Fred Harcourt and I were bivouaced within sight of the only door of the house where Deborah Shimmin worked as a domestic help in the family of her uncle . The night was not dark , it seldom is dark in these northern islands so late in May , but there was a light of the moon at its first quarter , and a glint of some stars shone down upon us as we hearkened to the stillness of the air and to a frequent movement of a tired horse in the stable . Our bivouac was a clump of trammon trees -LRB- elders -RRB- at the corner of the orchard which adjoined the farm buildings . Between us and the dwelling house there was a disused pigsty .