A LIVING DARKNESS 39 



the desert. Like a water-logged ship in a tide- 

 less sea — like a derelict among the Sargossa 

 weeds, — the wagon stood in the solitude and 

 silence, with the cloudless sky above and the 

 sun-scorched earth beneath— with the dune- 

 fiend watching us from his lair. It was almost 

 an insult to the landscape — this wood-and- 

 canvas construction of man, hauled jolting and 

 groaning across the pathless desert by tamed 

 and tortured beasts. It was a disfigurement on 

 the face of Solitude, — an incorporate insult 

 flung like a gage against the ramparts of one of 

 Nature's most jealously guarded fortresses. 



Under the shadow of the wagon-sail we slept 

 throughout the day; the sun was down before 

 we awoke. Once more night put on the gar- 

 ment of life. It was a desert-dweller who 

 v/rote that the heavens declared the glory of 

 God; the first astrologer must have had his 

 home in the wilderness. Over the desert the 

 stars, unfolding a glory not revealed else- 

 where, descend like a swarm of bees and seem 

 to busy themselves with destiny. 



Whispers of ghostly voices close at hand, — 

 faint and far-off cries, — flutters of spectral 

 wings — pulsed through the darkness. In the 

 desert, the brighter the firmament at night, the 

 more intensely darkness seems to brood over 



