ou fool!" answered Jack, kicking the recumbent figure of his
comrade. "D'you want to be left behind?"

On, on, through the endless darkness, now for a moment unconscious, now
half awake, but always with the sense of being cold and weary, the long
night march seemed to last a lifetime. Then, as sometimes happens in
similar circumstances, a half-forgotten tune took possession of his
tired brain, the once familiar melody of Queen Mab's hymn; and in a
dreamy fashion he kept humming it over and over again, sometimes the
air alone, and sometimes with snatches of the words, as they came back
to his memory.

"Rest comes at length;......
The day must dawn, and darksome night be past."

His head sank forward on his breast. It was Sunday evening at
Brenlands, and Helen was playing the piano. Queen Mab was standing
close at his side; and yet, somehow, the whole world lay between them.
"You may doubt us, but we have never lost faith in you." He turned to
see who spoke, and the figures in his dream vanished, leaving only the
echo of their voices in his mind.

"......Angels of light!
Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night!"

The tune was still droning in his head when the first grey streaks of
dawn gave warning of the approaching day, and, in the growing light,
the column gradually regained its proper formation.

The line of march lay down a vast slope covered with grass and shrubs,
which stretched away towards the distant Nile, as yet out of sight; and
ere long word was received from the cavalry scouts that the enemy, in
large numbers, were close at hand.

Once more the bullets of the sharpshooters whistled overhead; and the
Arabs appearing in considerable force on the left flank, the column was
halted on the summit of a low knoll, and orders were issued for the
construction of a zareba.

All hands now set to work to unload the camels and build walls of
saddles, biscuit-boxes, and other stores--parapets formed of almost as
incongruous materials as the old domino and pocket-knife works behind
which the lead warriors took shelter at Brenlands. Skirmishers were
thrown out to keep down the enemy's fire; but the men were worn out,
and having nothing to aim at but the feathery puffs of smoke rising
amidst the distant grass and bushes, they failed to dislodge the Arab
marksmen.

Jack and his comrades "lay low," glad to avail themselves of the
shelter afforded by the side of the zareba. The bu