twelve o'clock
`` Has anybody been for me ? '' he asked . Nobody had been there . As he could claim the downstairs sitting-room till twelve o'clock that night he sat in it all the evening ; and even when the clock had struck eleven , and the family had retired , he could not shake off the feeling that she would come back and sleep in the little room adjoining his own in which she had slept so many previous days . Her actions were always unpredictable : why should she not come ? Gladly would he have compounded for the denial of her as a sweetheart and wife by having her live thus as a fellow-lodger and friend , even on the most distant terms . His supper still remained spread , and going to the front door , and softly setting it open , he returned to the room and sat as watchers sit on Old-Midsummer eves , expecting the phantom of the Beloved .