eleven o'clock
When , at half past nine , the light began to fail , she lighted two candles in tall , thin , iron candlesticks beside her . They burned without flicker , those spires of yellow flame , slowly conquering the dying twilight , till in their soft radiance the room was full of warm dusky shadows , the night outside ever a deeper black . Two or three times his mother came , looked at him , asked her if she should stay , and , receiving a little silent shake of the head , went away again . At eleven o'clock , when once more she changed the ice-cap , his eyes had still no lustre , and for a moment her courage failed her utterly . It seemed to her that he could never win back , that death possessed the room already , possessed those candle-flames , the ticking of the clock , the dark , dripping night , possessed her heart . Could he be gone before she had been his ! Gone !