d roared whatever was happening, whether they
were being unsaddled, groomed, mounted, or fed.

With thoughts centred on his recent discovery, our hero made his way to
the spot where the camels of his detachment were picketed, and there
went mechanically through the work of cleaning up the lines, and the
still more unsavoury task of attending to "Lam's" toilet. Should he
speak to Valentine, or not? That was the question which occupied his
mind. Unless he did so, it was hardly likely that after seven years,
and with a moustache and sprouting beard, his cousin would recognize
him among the seventeen hundred men destined to form the expedition.

The men marched back to their lines, and were then dismissed for tea.
Jack sat silently sipping at his pannikin and munching his allowance of
biscuit.

Should he speak to Valentine, or not? The vague day-dream of their
school-boy days was realized--they were soldiers together, and on
active service; but everything was altered now. The great difference
of rank was, of itself, sufficient to place an impassable barrier
between them; and then the recollection of their last parting, his
refusals to meet his cousins again at Brenlands, and the fact of his
having left so many of his old chum's letters unanswered, all seemed to
lead up to one conclusion. Valentine would long ago have come to
regard it as a clear proof that the runaway had really stolen the
watch, and not have been surprised to hear that he had gone to the
dogs. Nor was he likely now to be very well pleased if the black sheep
suddenly walked up and claimed relationship. No. Jack felt he had
long ago severed all ties with what had once been dear to him; it was
the better plan to let things remain as they were, and make no attempt
to renew associations with a past which could not be recalled.

Sunset was rapidly followed by darkness. In honour of its being
Christmas Day, an impromptu concert had been announced; and the men
began to gather round a rough stage which had been erected under the
trees, and which was lit up with lamps and the glare of two huge
bonfires.

The programme was of the free-and-easy character: volunteers were
called for, and responded with songs, step-dances, and the like; while
the audience, lying and sitting round on the sand, greeted their
efforts with hearty applause, and joined in every chorus with unwonted
vigour.

Jack had always possessed a good voice, a fact which had long ago bee