the hour of
eleven
`` Man , '' said my brother , in a voice totally unlike that which he had used to me , `` what art thou ? The charge has been made . Answer it . The visage -- the voice -- at the bottom of these stairs -- at the hour of eleven -- To whom did they belong ? To thee ? '' Twice did Carwin attempt to speak , but his words died away upon his lips . My brother resumed in a tone of greater vehemence -- `` Thou falterest ; faltering is ominous ; say yes or no : one word will suffice ; but beware of falsehood .