Twenty past
twelve
Had he been asleep ? Only his watch could answer that , and never had he loved it more dearly . No -- it was daytime . Twenty past twelve -- and he would be late -- A long rumbling growl , that seemed to shudder through the wood , so startled him that it set little hammers beating all over his body . Then the wind grew angrier -- not whispering secrets now , but tearing at the tree-tops and lashing the branches this way and that . And every minute the wood grew darker , and the sky overhead was darkest of all -- the colour of spilled ink . And there was Tara -- his forgotten Princess -- waiting for him in her high tower ; or perhaps she had given up waiting and gone home .