Ten o'clock
Annette had not been well the day before , and Connie had peremptorily forbidden her to sit up . The day was still young in Lathom Woods . A wood-cutter engaged in cutting coppice on the wood 's eastern skirts , hearing deep muffled sounds from `` Tom '' clock-tower , borne to him from Oxford on the light easterly breeze , stopped to count the strokes . Ten o'clock . He straightened himself , wiped the sweat from his brow , and was immediately aware of certain other sounds approaching from the wood itself . Horses -- at a walk . No doubt the same gentleman and lady who had passed him an hour earlier , going in a contrary direction .