96 LODGES IN THE WILDERNESS 



Bushmanland, for most utter silence reigned. 

 Probably the soaring flames of our camp-fire 

 had frightened away even the jackals and the 

 night-jars from a wide surrounding area. The 

 stars seemed to sink earthward ; so brightly did 

 they glow in the vault of liquid purple that 

 the face of the desert was masked in impene- 

 trable gloom. That night the lips of the 

 wilderness had no message audible to human 

 sense. 



Typhon slept — coiled about the feet of his 

 granite prisoner, whose bulk loomed menac- 

 ingly against the wheeling galaxies. Did he, 

 the belted captive, sleep, or did he, haply, 

 share vigil with the one solitary, futile human 

 soul which, maimed from the stress of days 

 and deeds, claimed with him brotherhood 

 through pain and unrest. But slumber seemed 

 to brood over the desert like a dove and a far- 

 off voice to whisper across the shrouded plain : 

 " Warte, nur — balde 

 Ruhest du auch." 



