and this!

The long line of camels moved as noiselessly as ghosts across the
desert. Before and behind were the silent swaying white figures of the
Arabs. Not a sound anywhere, not the very faintest sound, until far
away behind them they heard a human voice singing in a strong, droning,
unmusical fashion. It had the strangest effect, this far-away voice,
in that huge inarticulate wilderness. And then there came a well-known
rhythm into that distant chant, and they could almost hear the words: We
nightly pitch our moving tent A day's march nearer home.

Was Mr. Stuart in his right mind again, or was it some coincidence of
his delirium, that he should have chosen this for his song? With moist
eyes his friends looked back through the darkness, for well they knew
that home was very near to this wanderer. Gradually the voice died away
into a hum, and was absorbed once more into the masterful silence of the
desert.

"My dear old chap, I hope you're not hurt?" said Belmont, laying his
hand upon Cochrane's knee.

The Colonel had straightened himself, though he still gasped a little in
his breathing.

"I am all right again, now. Would you kindly show me which was the man
who struck me?"

"It was the fellow in front there--with his camel beside Fardet's."

"The young fellow with the moustache--I can't see him very well in this
light, but I think I could pick him out again. Thank you, Belmont!"

"But I thought some of your ribs were gone."

"No; it only knocked the wind out of me."

"You must be made of iron. It was a frightful blow. How could you rally
from it so quickly?"

The Colonel cleared his throat and hummed and stammered.

"The fact is, my dear Belmont--I'm sure you would not let it go
further--above all not to the ladies; but I am rather older than I used
to be, and rather than lose the military carriage which has always been
dear to me, I----"

"Stays, be Jove!" cried the astonished Irishman.

"Well, some slight artificial support," said the Colonel, stiffly, and
switched the conversation off to the chances of the morrow.

It still comes back in their dreams to those who are left, that long
night's march in the desert. It was like a dream itself, the silence of
it as they were borne forward upon those soft, shuffling sponge feet,
and the flitting, flickering figures which oscillated upon every side of
them. The whole universe seemed to be hung as a monstrous time-dial in
front of them. A star would gl