six o'clock
The sort of nervous thrill that heralds hysterical attacks was rapidly overcoming me , and I whispered to my husband , `` Let us go now ; '' but he lingered yet a few seconds , and silently drew my attention again to the window . Joe was on his knees by his bedside , his face hidden in his hands . What silent prayer was ascending to the Throne of Grace , who shall say ? I only know that it were well if many a kneeling worshipper in `` purple and fine linen '' could feel as sure of being heard as Joe did when , his victory won , he knelt , in his humble servant 's garb , and said his prayers that night in spite of the aching head and weary limbs that needed so badly the few hours ' rest that remained before six o'clock , the time Joe always got up . Silently we stole away , and in my mind from that moment my faith in Joe never wavered . Not once , in spite of sad events that came to pass later on , when even I , his staunchest friend , had to recall to memory that kneeling little form in the silence of the night , alone with his God , in order to stifle the cruel doubts of his truth that were forced upon us all by circumstances I must soon relate . The famous dinner passed off well .