two in the morning
Michael , his teeth tight set , his ear on the strain , did not utter a word . Never had he been so near his object . He felt that he was about to attain it ! Towards two in the morning a double row of lights glittered on the dark horizon in which were confounded the two banks of the Angara . On the right hand were the lights of Irkutsk ; on the left , the fires of the Tartar camp . Michael Strogoff was not more than half a verst from the town . `` At last ! ''