And still far away the beating of that drum went on--monotonous, mournful, significant--the real call of the East made audible.

Thresk leaned forward on his seat, listening, treasuring the sound.

He rose reluctantly when his bearer came to tell him that dinner was ready.

Thresk took a look round.

He pointed to the cluster of lights on the plain.
"Is that a village ?" he asked.
"No, Sahib," replied the bearer.