about three o'clock
That morning the sun , as it peered through the closed shutters of an upper chamber , had relieved the darkness of a thing it had been afraid of . George Bayley sat there in a chair , his head sunk on his breast , a small , blue hole in his temple , whence a drop or two of blood had oozed , quite dead . This , then , was what he meant when he said that he had made arrangements for leaving the village . The doctor thought that the fatal shot must have been fired about three o'clock that morning , and , when Henry heard this , he knew that it was the breath of the angel of death as he flew by that had chilled the genial current in his veins . Bayley 's family lived elsewhere , and his father , a stern , cold , haughty-looking man , was the only relative present at the funeral . When Mr. Lewis undertook to tell him , for his comfort , that there was reason to believe that George was out of his head when he took his life , Mr. Bayley interrupted him . `` Do n't say that , '' he said .