seven o'clock
Week after week her strength wasted away , in a manner that was painfully perceptible to those who felt an interest in her . Her son Ned was still in the country , but had no fixed residence , and merely remained for the purpose of seeing her freed from all her miseries , and laid in her last unbroken sleep beside those whom she had loved so well . On the evening in question , she appeared to be so feeble and exhausted , that the good priest 's family did not for a moment imagine that any particular vigilance was necessary . Between six and seven o'clock , then , she had performed the last of those pilgrimages of the heart which time after time had been made by her to the solitary church-yard in the mountains -- containing , as it did , the only humble shrine from which her bruised and broken spirit could draw that ideal happiness , of which God in His mercy had not bereft her . On arriving at the old ruin , she felt so completely enfeebled , that a little rest was absolutely necessary previous to her reaching the graves she came to visit , although they were only a few yards distant from the spot which afforded the poor creature the requisite shelter while recruiting her exhausted powers . At length she arose , and having tottered over to the graves , she sat down , and clasping her hands about her knees , she rocked her body to and fro , as Irish women do when under the influence of strong grief . She then chaunted a verse or two of an old song , whose melancholy notes were not out of keeping with either the scene or the hour ; nor an unsuitable burthen for the wild night breeze which wailed through the adjoining ruins in tones that might almost be supposed to proceed from the spirit of death itself , as it kept its lonely watch over those who lay beneath .