ten o'clock in
the morning
But three days before Christmas , out of the unknown forces beyond his reasoning swept a wave of desire to go South , which took him off his feet . Trained to trust his brain and deny his impulse as he was , yet there was a vein of sentiment , almost of superstition , in him which the thought of the old place pricked sharply to life . This longing was something beyond him -- he must go -- and he had thrown his decisions to the winds and was feverish until he could get away . As before , he rode out from the Phoenix Hotel , and at ten o'clock in the morning he turned into Fairfield . It was a still , bright Christmas morning , crisp and cool , and the air like wine . The house stood bravely in the sunlight , but the branches above it were bare and no softening leafage hid the marks of time ; it looked old and sad and deserted to-day , and its master gazed at it with a pang in his heart . It was his , and he could not save it .