midnight
And in that chronicle , O Sir Poet , there was as much genius , vigour of thought , vitality of being , poured and wasted , as ever kind friend will say was lavished on the rude outer world by big John Burley ! Genius , genius ! are we all alike , then , save when we leash ourselves to some matter-of - fact material , and float over the roaring seas on a wooden plank or a herring tub ? '' And after he had uttered that cry of a secret anguish , John Burley had begun to show symptoms of growing fever and disturbed brain ; and when they had got him into bed , he lay there muttering to himself , until , towards midnight , he had asked Leonard to bring the light nearer to him . So now he again was quiet , with his face turned towards the wall ; and Leonard stood by the bedside sorrowfully , and Mrs. Goodyer , who did not heed Burley 's talk , and thought only of his physical state , was dipping cloths into iced water to apply to his forehead . But as she approached with these , and addressed him soothingly , Burley raised himself on his arm , and waved aside the bandages . `` I do not need them , '' said he , in a collected voice .