Ten o'clock
`` That charmed flower , far from thy bower , I 'd bear the long hours through , Thou should ` st forget , and my sad breast The sorrows twain should rue . O sad flower , O sad , sad ring to me . The ring was a world too fine ; And would it had sunk in a forty-fathom sea , Ere the morn that made it mine . '' Ten o'clock on the succeeding night . It seemed an age to John Mortimer since Valentine had met him in the hall , a night and a day that were almost a lifetime had come between ; but his thoughts were not confused now . Something awful but fresh , breaking across his distracted mind , had diverted the torrent of his despairing fear lest his child should die through his mistake , and though he had bowed down his head and wept since the unexpected loss of another , those were healing tears , for with them came for a time escape from the rending strain that was breaking him down . A sudden noise , when all was so quiet , and some one running down the garden , had startled him .