And then, as if to add to the wonder of the night, the two men became aware of a slow change in the scene before them. The objects in the garden grew into vision slowly. Along the gorge they could see the houses and under them a chill light on the black swirling river. The dim minarets changed from blue sentinels of the darkness to long white fingers pointing skywards. And above the black edge of the precipice it seemed no longer dark, for even as they looked and wondered, the moon came up over the edge, round and full, with its white face peering over the great wall shutting in the gorge. The scene before them was now one of indescribable beauty. The little white flat houses, the mosques and minarets and gardens, all glimmered brightly in the serene light flooding the gorge. As the river ran between the banks, leaping the weirs and rocky obstructions, it flashed silvery under the rays of the moon, and as if to keep measure with this revelation, the drum-beats grew louder and louder, throbbing in the perfumed air until the sound seemed to be closing in from all sides. How long they sat spellbound before this magic of the East they knew not, but their inactivity was broken at last by the noise of a footfall on the gravel below the verandah. Instantly Price was on his feet, peering over towards the garden. His companion too had heard the noise, and jumped up just in time to see a white figure turn in the path and pass from sight under the darkness of the cherry trees. Both men looked at one another for the space of a second. "I'm sure there's some one moving in the garden," said Dean. "No one has any right in here." They listened. The drum droned louder than before and as the sound died with the veering of the wind, they heard a footfall again, less distinct. The trespasser was going in the direction of the drum. Without hesitation, Price vaulted lightly from the verandah to the path below, his companion following. Quickly they traversed the downward slope until they reached a grove of cherry trees into which Price plunged. Behind him, Dean, following silently, heard his guide give a short cry; peering into the shadow, he saw a small figure some ten yards ahead, garbed from head to foot in a loose white gown, which fluttered ghostlike in the moonlight. Price, running now, had caught the white form; when Dean came up, he turned to him with a nervous laugh. As the latter stopped, he gave a short cry of surprise, wondering what trick the enchantment of the night was playing upon his senses, for there, firmly held by Price, was his own boy, barefooted, in his white nightgown, looking up with startled eyes. "John! what are you doing here?" The father stooped and lifted up his boy. The child's face wore a half puzzled expression as if he had suddenly been awakened from sleep and was dazzled by the light. For a moment or so he gave no answer, but clutched the lapels of his father's coat, his small frame shaking with fright.