My clam beds—mine and Eve’s—have many virtues. From them I can see both east and west; from that point neither dawn nor sunset escapes me. And another virtue they had had for me, that was more than dawn or sunset. And what that was, any man who has been in such case as mine will know without the telling. So, though I loved the dawn, it was more than that that brought me stealing through the early gray of morning to the bank, just where the sod breaks off to the sand.
There I sat and waited, alone, and I watched the gray brighten in the east, and hoped that Eve would not be too late. And just as the gray became a tender blue, and hope was leaving me, there was the light step behind me, and I rose and stood, as a fisherman should stand before a governess. And Eve did not speak to me, for she saw the east.
“Oh!” she cried softly.
And she said no word more, but there we stood together. And we saw the blue brighten and become suffused with pink, and there in the eastern sky lay a great rose that stretched its petals to the zenith. And in the heart of that rose was a little cloud like a flame, with one long finger pointed straight at Eve and me. And all those soft tints of blue and pink, with the flame of the little cloud, were spread upon the water that was but just stirring in its sleep, and dimpling here and there. Then was the little flame-cloud edged with gold upon its lower side, and shot through with orange lights, and the pink rose turned to saffron and then to orange, and the rim of the sea was luminous, like molten gold. And on a sudden the gold and orange fled from the little cloud, and a great blazing fire showed above the sea.
“The sun, Eve,” I whispered; and as I spoke, a little breeze flashed across the water and darkened it like a breath upon a mirror. And there was the great disk of the sun half risen, and we might no longer look him in the face.
And at that Eve fetched a great sigh, and turned, and the chorus of the birds broke forth in the trees behind us. They had been calling back and forth before, but now they sang madly. The old earth had waked once more, and it was day.
“Adam,” said Eve, “I thank you.”
Then she sat upon the bank, where the colored pebbles still marked the names, and I sat there beside her; and for some while we spoke not, but listened to the mad music of the birds. Then Eve would dig for clams.
“What matter, Eve?” I asked. “The clams will be the bigger for waiting. We have seen the dawn, and we may see the day grow.”