He was essentially a man who stood alone.

But the slim, fair-haired young subaltern worshipped him openly and with reason.

For Monck it was who, grimly resolute, had pulled him through the worst illness he had ever known, accomplishing by sheer force of will what Ralston, the doctor, had failed to accomplish by any other means.

And in consequence and for all time the youngest subaltern in the mess had become Monck's devoted adherent.
They stood together for a moment at the top of the steps while Monck, his dark, lean face wholly unresponsive and inscrutable, took out a cigar.

The night was a wonderland of deep spaces and glittering stars.
Somewhere far away a native _tom-tom_ throbbed like the beating of a fevered pulse, quickening spasmodically at intervals and then dying away again into mere monotony.