L'ENVOI 



MY eyes have gazed their last upon 

 the face of the desert. Although I 

 love her still, although the memory 

 of her burning ardour, her splendid indiffer- 

 ence and her wealth of illusive charm is my 

 abiding and most valued possession, we shall 

 meet no more. She is not a mistress to be 

 lightly courted. As Brunhild slew Siegfried 

 so would the Desert inevitably slay one who 

 remained her lover after desire had outlasted 

 strength. Her lioness-like caresses are not for 

 those whose blood slows down as it nears the 

 ocean of eternal silence even as the force and 

 fury of the Gariep sink to tranquillity when the 

 mighty stream nears the Atlantic and ex- 

 tinction. 



Good-bye, Andries, best of comrades. I 

 have not told of all our adventures of how 

 we pursued the springbuck at full gallop 

 across the trackless plains in your springless, 

 home-made rattletrap, behind four wild, half- 

 trained horses, until we were black and blue. 



