about midnight
asked Wilkins , sourly . `` Smithson sick , sir , '' was the reply . The bandmaster looked at his principal flute curiously , but said nothing . The next minute they were dismissed , and Dick longed in vain for a place where he could be alone , the only approach to it being the open window , where , after the customary change of uniform and wash and clean , he sat gazing out at the sky , but seeing no bright silvery clouds -- nothing but the face of that young officer and the old ruins down by the flooded river ; for it seemed to Dick Smithson that -- in spite of what had been written about midnight and the witching hour -- he had seen a ghost , and in the broad daylight , too . He tried to cast the idea from him again and again , but that face would return , wonderful in its resemblance , and at last a painful , feverish fit came on ; for the countenance he had that day gazed upon , and which had impressed him so painfully , brought up all the old life which he had tried so hard and successfully to forget . `` It 's like a punishment to me , for trying to forget that which I ought always to bear in mind , '' he said at last , with a sigh . `` How horrible !