And the next day, too, it rained, but I cared not. And again we stood together under the tree, Eve and I, and as we stood there, the clouds parted and showed the sun sinking in splendor. And I saw a greater glory than I had seen. And when the sun was gone, there was the young moon following. “Peace on earth,” I said; but she did not speak. So for some while we stood silent, and I saw the gold and the red fade from the clouds, and the clouds themselves were gone, deep banks of indigo, into the east. Then the western sky was grown violet and a green like the curl of a wave, till, overhead, it became the night. And I looked at Eve, and her look smote upon my heart, for it was troubled. But I might not say the thing I would; for shall a fisherman so speak to a governess to the Rich? Even a governess to the Rich may have her woes, it seems, and it is no fisherman’s part-- “Eve,” I said. And she started, as though her thoughts were wandering. “Eve,” I said again, “would you dig for clams at dawn? For the beds will be uncovered by dawn to-morrow.” “Oh,” she answered, “will they? And is it a joy to see the dawn?” “Did you never see a dawn, Eve?” “Never. Have I missed much?” “If you see one, Eve, you will know how much.” “I would like to see a dawn,” she said. And then she was silent, and I thought her near to tears, and a great fear came upon me. “Now, Adam,” she said, at last, “I must go. Good-night.” Then she turned and listened. “They are coming for me now. Run, Adam.” “Run!” I cried. “Run, when I stand upon my own? Why should I run? No, I will stay. And they shall do nothing to you against your will.” I had forgotten that I was a fisherman, but Eve did not note it. “Run, Adam,” she cried, beseeching. “If you care for my peace, run.” And so I ran, like any poacher. And that night, sitting staring into the shadows, I wondered. * * * * * 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.