Each moment seemed an hour to Alfred Wentworth, whose mind was wrought up to a pitch of excitement, almost unendurable.

Several times he rose from his bed and paced the tent.

At last the long wished for hour arrived.

Harry who had been smoking all the night, looked at his watch by the faint light the fire of his segar emitted, and perceived that it was only five minutes for twelve.

Crossing over to the bunk on which Alfred was lying, he whispered: "It is time." Silently they put on the citizens clothes borrowed in the evening, and left the tent.
The night had changed from the pleasant, starry evening to a black and dismal gloom.