THE AMERICAN-S CA NDIN A VI AN REVIEW 
365 
water and showed a green bank topped by a gray fort-like building. 
My companion, who a moment past, had been scarcely more than 
a figure in black and white, became a colorful, living being. 
I looked up at the hotel. One light burned on the top floor. Gray 
was thinning into white. The clusters of roses which a moment before 
had been bouquets of small white disks were livening into red. The 
wind had shifted. It was coming to us from the land. The fields, the 
beech forest, the gardens, had awakened from a quiet sleep, and their 
morning breath was clean and fresh. 
And then I turned again toward the water. A change had come. 
The sky was a faint, tender yellow, the color on the breasts of canaries. 
Below this sky, a gray-green sea coiled and uncoiled itself in long 
extended surges. It was out of such a sea that the sun rose. The sun 
came quickly, smoothly, relentlessly, higher and higher, dissolving the 
last shadows from the surface of the sea, and overwhelming the faint 
yellow of the sky with its tremendous orange. The long lazy surges 
broke into companies of maddened, sparkling waves that leaped at 
each other, and then died into hissing troughs of foam. 
Suddenly a flock of sea-gulls dropped from the sky and for an 
instant sank their white breasts in the water. As they rose in a spiral 
of fluttering wings, a deep, long roar came to us from the direction of 
the fort. Again and again and again the guns boomed. The new day 
had come. Midsummer night was past. 
