Fine and impalpable as the meshes of the spider's-web are the bands and bonds of a habit of concealment; swift-growing, too, and in ever-widening circles, like the same glittering net woven for death.
At last Mrs.White said, "Steve, I think it's getting near nine o'clock.
You'd better go in next door before it's any later." Stephen pulled out his watch.

By his own sensations, he would have said that it must be midnight.
"Yes, it is half-past eight.

I suppose I had better go now," he said, and bade his mother good-night.
He went out into the night with a sense of ecstasy of relief and joy.

He was bewildered at himself.

How this strong sentiment towards Mercy Philbrick had taken possession of him he could not tell.