midnight
He sat before the table for hours , fighting grimly to persuade himself he need not put away this joy that had come to him . Surely friendship was a good thing ... and love . A man ought not to turn his back on them . It was long past midnight when he rose , took his father 's sword from the wall where it hung , and unsheathed it . A vision of an open fireplace in a log house rose before him , his father in the foreground looking like a picture of Stonewall Jackson . The kind brave eyes that were the soul of honor gazed at him . `` You damned scoundrel !