midnight
Hillyard 's face changed . He had the spark of the true wanderer within him . Even recollections of days long gone could blow it into clear , red flame . All the long glowing days on the hot stones of the water-side , the glitter of the Mediterranean purple-blue under the sun , the coming of night and the sudden twinkling of lights in the cave-dwellings above Almeria and across the bay from Aguilas , the plunge into the warm sea at midnight , the glorious evenings at water-side cafés when he had half a dozen coppers in his pocket ; the good nature of the people ! All these recollections swept back on him in a rush . The actual hardships , the hunger , the biting winds of January under a steel-cold sky , these things were all forgotten . He remembered the freedom .