Further than this there was nothing, nothing but a vast, illimitable plain of green--the open Pacific.

But at this hour the color of the scene was its greatest charm.

It glowed with all the sombre radiance of a cathedral.

Everything was seen through a haze of purple--from the low green hills in the Presidio Reservation to the faint red mass of Mount Diablo shrugging its rugged shoulder over the Contra Costa foot-hills.
As the evening faded, the west burned down to a dull red glow that overlaid the blue of the bay with a sheen of ruddy gold.

The foot-hills of the opposite shore, Diablo, and at last even Tamalpais, resolved themselves in the velvet gray of the sky.