cerne is a toy, is from an earlier time than the monolithic raths by the sea, and marks the dateless era of serpent-worship. But the sunny rock-front radiated heat like a bonfire, and there was no wish to stand and study it.
It was then past nine o'clock, the sun was scorching high overhead, and nothing Daniel could say about the "numberlesses of gods and goddesses," or lesser cave-temples, could stir us. Not "Krishna and the gopis, his sweethearts in paradise," not Ganesha, all black, greasy, and garlanded in his own rock-cut temple, could attract us longer—all interest in art, archaeology, and architecture scorched and scotched for the day. For a half-mile we had made Daniel give guarantees of importance before we would look within a cave or take one extra step in that terrible scorch and sun-glare of a midwinter morning.
The sands were blinding and our boats quivered in heat-waves as we went toward them at noon; but while the coolies splashed along over tow-paths submerged by the tide, we were cooled by a gentle head-wind all the afternoon. The water was a-splash with bits of silver, and one of the trackers stopped, wrestled with something under his foot, and threw a large fish into the boat. At sunset we could see a faint line of surf beyond the sand wastes, and the beat of the sea was heard through hours of darkness succeeding the most beautiful, moist pink sunset.
When the candles were lighted a great, two-inch brown cockroach ran up the side of the boat, stood upside down on the mat ceiling, and waved his feelers.
