noon
One day , getting towards the end of December , the laird awoke in a singular mood . He had no mind to go to the works , and the weather promised to give him a good excuse . Over the dreary hills there was a mournful floating veil of mist . Clouds were flying rapidly in great masses , and showers streaming through the air in disordered ranks , driven furiously before a mad wind -- a wind that before noon shook the doors and windows , and drove the bravest birds into hiding . The laird wandered restlessly up and down . `` There is the dominie , '' cried Mrs. Hope , about one o'clock . `` What brings him here through such a storm ? ''