THE SUN'S ARDOUR 65 



desert stretched to the sky-line. The dominant 

 note of its colour-scheme was creamy yellow, 

 with but a hint of sage-green, — for the plumy 

 shocks of the " toa " far outnumbered the 

 sparsely-scattered shrubs. A glance at 

 Bantom Berg and Typhon shewed them to be 

 touched by the first sunbeams. The shoulder 

 of the dune-monster shone as though a radiant 

 hand were laid upon it. The hand stole ten- 

 derly down the side and flank, revealing un- 

 suspected scars. It was as though the morning 

 were caressing the loathly creature, — trying to 

 heal with pitying touch his self-inflicted scars 

 of yesterday. In the limitless expanse of 

 desert Typhon and his granite prisoner stood 

 isolated, — the only prominence, and the un- 

 gainly bulk of Typhon made manifest the im- 

 mensity of the kingdom he had usurped and 

 the illimitable extent of the territory towards 

 which his carking hands outstretched. 



The sun was now up and the resulting 

 warmth was a physical delight. But I could 

 not avoid lugubrious anticipation of what all 

 too soon was coming, — that fierce ardour which 

 would cause the sand to grow red-hot and 

 make my couch, then so comfortable, a bed of 

 torment. Why should this anticipation have 

 almost destroyed my physical pleasure? why 

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