THE LORD OF THE DESERT 55 



moisture, the diaphanous veil of evaporated 

 dew. But on the previous night no dew had 

 fallen. Heaven had withheld that gracious, 

 healing touch with which it sometimes assuaged 

 the scorch inflicted by the ruthless sun on the 

 patient wilderness. 



The plains lay hushed as though in an- 

 ticipation of sinister happenings. Soon the 

 east grew suddenly splendid; shafts of faint 

 gold and delicate rose spread from the horizon 

 half-way to the zenith. These were the wheel- 

 spokes of the still-hidden chariot of the sun- 

 god. The flanks of Typhon, the huddled shoul- 

 ders between which his head was sunk, took on 

 the hue of glowing bronze. The Belted 

 Mountain shone like a bale-fire. 



The sun arose; his first beams smote like 

 the lash of a whip. In the twinkling of an eye 

 the glamour of morning had shrunk and 

 shrivelled, fallen to the dust and left no more 

 trace than would a broken bubble. The world 

 was now a tortured plain on which the re- 

 doubled wrath of the sky was poured forth. 

 Typhon seemed to stir in his sleep, to ex- 

 pand and palpitate. The reason of his baleful 

 and unbridled power was at hand. That day 

 he would be omnipotent and unquestioned 

 Lord of the Desert. 



