Being tall, he had to stoop slightly.

Within, on the opposite side of the ledge, he saw the tiny brass candlestick with its inch of candle which he had used over-night while searching for a volume of Scott in the book-case lining the neighboring wall.

Somehow, this simplest of domestic objects brought a thrill of recollection.
"Oh, dash it all!" he growled good-humoredly, "I'm getting nervy.

I must chuck this bad habit of working late, and use the blessed hours of daylight." Yet, as he sauntered down the lawn toward the stream, he knew well that he would do nothing of the sort.

He loved that time of peace between ten at night and one in the morning.