108 LODGES IN THE WILDERNESS 



Once more our caravan was silently moving 

 over the trackless waste. The desert was now 

 in one of her moods of tenderness, — the air 

 full of soft and subtle scent that was sweeter 

 than myrrh — more grateful than wafts from a 

 garden of spices. A feeling of sadness gripped 

 my heart-strings ; I was leaving the mistress I 

 loved — the mistress beneath whose stern, arid, 

 monotonous day-mask I could discern the fair 

 symmetry, the soft and delicately - tinted 

 curves of perfect and eternal youth. How 

 often had I breathlessly watched those 

 features quicken and grow mobile as the de- 

 facing sun departed. It was then that the 

 breath of her mouth sought mine; then that 

 her eyes shone softly as the evening star. But 

 it was at full night, when the great dome above 

 us was unvexed by the least trace of day, that 

 the desert's inhabiting soul came forth and 

 transfigured the littleness of my cribbed and 

 cabined spirit. 



Sometimes for a season she smiled as though 

 she relented, but the smile was not for me. 

 At dawn, when Zephyr and Aurora couched at 

 the hem of her robe, she let me lean against 

 the softness of her bosom. At night she lulled 

 me to sleep and crooned into my ear dream- 

 songs that were great and strong with wisdom 



