midnight
Searching down in the depths of her trunk , she drew forth that filmy cloud of white -- silk-bordered and half finished to a gown . Why were her eyes wet today and her mind on the Silver Fleece ? It was an anniversary , and perhaps she still remembered that moment , that supreme moment before the mob . She half slipped on , half wound about her , the white cloud of cloth , standing with parted lips , looking into the long mirror and gleaming in the fading day like midnight gowned in mists and stars . Abruptly there came a peremptory knocking at the door . `` Zora ! Zora ! ''