five minutes to eleven
Oh ! this fever ! He rose , and tried to read the hour on the round face of a clock which showed white in the darkness . It was five minutes to eleven . Outside , the thunder-storm still raged . The power of the maddened elements , the power of time which was pushing the tiny hands there on the face of the clock , seemed friendly to Benedetto , in their indifferent predominance over the human power , in whose stronghold he was , and which held him at its mercy . But the fever , the ever-increasing fever !