midnight
As the solemn work went on , he looked again and again into the mirror , where he saw none of the wrinkles of care , no brow-knitting of fractiousness , no sternness of resolute determination , -- all quiet , smooth , even mild . Ay , such a mime is man when he is a mome , that he even smiled as he felt his pulse , -- how cool was his blood , how regular the vibrations ! And so the mummery went on : the flowered-red vest , the braided coat of sky-blue , the cravat , the ruffles , the wrist-bands scolloped and stiff , the indispensable ruff , concealed behind by the long locks of auburn , so beautiful in Isobel 's eyes , that flowed over his broad shoulders . The work was finished ; Ogilvy was dressed -- his body in all the colours of the arc of hope -- his mind in the dark midnight weeds of a concealed misery , concealed even from himself . He sought the chamber of his mother , and , taking her hand , kissed it fervently ; but could not trust himself to even a broken syllable of speech , and his silence was sympathetic . She looked into the face of her son , and then threw her eye solemnly over the array of his dress . The tear stood apparent , yet her face seemed to have borrowed his composedness , as if she felt that the old doom still followed the house of Ogilvy , and was inevitable , when the evil genius of the Bowers was in the ascendant .