Seven o'clock
The old building was full of strange sounds -- of murmurs and resonances , of slight creepings and patterings , that tried the nerves . Her room communicated with Lucy 's , and their doors were provided with bolts , the newness of which , perhaps , testified to the fears of other summer tenants before them . Nevertheless , Eleanor had been a prey to starts and terrors , and her night had passed in a bitter mingling of moral strife and physical discomfort . Seven o'clock striking from the village church . She slipped to her feet . Ready to her hand lay one of the soft and elegant wrappers -- fresh , not long ago , from Paris -- as to which Lucy had often silently wondered how anyone could think it right to spend so much money on such things . Eleanor , of course , was not conscious of the smallest reproach in the matter .