in;" and said firmly, yet quite respectfully--

"No, sir."

The doctor here took another good look at his subject, with a meaning
twinkle in his eye, as if he felt that he had touched a tender point.
Then he felt his victim's pulse, sounded his chest, and ordered him to
strip. Being apparently satisfied with the result of his examination,
he asked him if he "felt all right."

Reflecting that his mother had often told him he was made up of body,
soul, and spirit, and that in regard to the latter two he was rather
hazy, Miles felt strongly inclined for a moment to say, "Certainly not,"
but, thinking better of it, he answered, "Yes, sir," with decision.

"Have you anything to complain of?" asked the doctor.

The mind of our hero was what we may style rapidly reflective. In
regard to the decrees of Fate, things in general, and his father's
conduct in particular, he had a decided wish to complain, but again he
laid restraint on himself and said, "No, sir."

"And do you wish to go to Egypt?"

"Yes, sir!" was answered with prompt decision.

"Then you may go," said the doctor, turning away with an air of a man
who dismisses a subject from his mind.

When all the men had thus passed the medical examination, those of them
who were accepted mustered their bags and kits before Captain Lacey,
commander of the company to which they were attached, and those who
wanted anything were allowed to draw it from the stores.

Captain Lacey was a fine specimen of a British soldier--grave, but kind
in expression and in heart; tall, handsome, powerful, about thirty years
of age, with that urbanity of manner which wins affection at first
sight, and that cool, quiet decision of character which inspires
unlimited confidence.

As the troop-ship which was to convey them to Egypt was to start sooner
than had been intended, there was little time for thought during the few
hours in England that remained to the regiment. The men had to draw
their pith helmets, and fit the ornaments thereon; then go the
quartermaster's stores to be fitted with white clothing, after which
they had to parade before the Colonel, fully arrayed in the martial
habiliments which were needful in tropical climes. Besides these
matters there were friends to be seen, in some cases relatives to be
parted from, and letters innumerable to be written. Miles Milton was
among those who, on the last day in Portsmouth, attempted to write home.
He had been taken by Sergeant