In his breast was the glory of a thing new-born, and the world, like himself, was changed.

Storm had passed.
The gray river lay under his eyes.

Shoreward he made out the dark outlines of the deep spruce and cedar and balsam forests.

About him there was a great stillness, broken only by the murmur of the river and the ripple of water under the scow.

Wind had gone with the black rainclouds, and Kent, as he looked about him, saw the swift dissolution of the last shadows of night, and the breaking in the East of a new paradise.