the hour of twelve
Even then little heavings and sidelong pushes expressed a desire to be caressed , and when at last Stair 's hand ran over his head , across the thick ruff of hair about his neck and passed down his spine , Whitefoot shook with delight and leaped so high that his forepaws were on Stair 's shoulders . `` Down , dog , down ! '' said his master , and at the word Whitefoot dropped back on all fours , obedient but content . It now was past the hour of twelve . The central night stood still . The little chill breeze which ruffles the waves an hour or so in early morning had not yet begun to blow . Stair had been about the House of Rathan half-a-dozen of times .