about eleven
o'clock
Frankie had been put to bed that evening at the customary hour , but did not seem to be sleeping as well as usual . Owen could hear him twisting and turning about and uttering little cries in his sleep . He left his work several times to go into the boy 's room and cover him with the bedclothes which his restless movements had disordered . As the time wore on , the child became more tranquil , and about eleven o'clock , when Owen went in to look at him , he found him in a deep sleep , lying on his side with his head thrown back on the pillow , breathing so softly through his slightly parted lips that the sound was almost imperceptible . The fair hair that clustered round his forehead was damp with perspiration , and he was so still and pale and silent that one might have thought he was sleeping the sleep that knows no awakening . About an hour later , when he had finished writing the showcard , Owen went out into the scullery to wash his hands before going to bed : and whilst he was drying them on the towel , the strange sensation he had been conscious of all the evening became more intense , and a few seconds afterwards he was terrified to find his mouth suddenly filled with blood . For what seemed an eternity he fought for breath against the suffocating torrent , and when at length it stopped , he sank trembling into a chair by the side of the table , holding the towel to his mouth and scarcely daring to breathe , whilst a cold sweat streamed from every pore and gathered in large drops upon his forehead .