midnight
He was clad in a voluminous cloak , that seemed to be made of a buffalo 's hide , and a pair of those goat-skin breeches , with the hair outward , which are still commonly worn by the peasants of the Roman Campagna . In this garb , they look like antique Satyrs ; and , in truth , the Spectre of the Catacomb might have represented the last survivor of that vanished race , hiding himself in sepulchral gloom , and mourning over his lost life of woods and streams . Furthermore , he had on a broad-brimmed , conical hat , beneath the shadow of which a wild visage was indistinctly seen , floating away , as it were , into a dusky wilderness of mustache and beard . His eyes winked , and turned uneasily from the torches , like a creature to whom midnight would be more congenial than noonday . On the whole , the spectre might have made a considerable impression on the sculptor 's nerves , only that he was in the habit of observing similar figures , almost every day , reclining on the Spanish steps , and waiting for some artist to invite them within the magic realm of picture . Nor , even thus familiarized with the stranger 's peculiarities of appearance , could Kenyon help wondering to see such a personage , shaping himself so suddenly out of the void darkness of the catacomb . `` What are you ? ''