* * * * * Sir Reginald had been nearly two years at Camelabad when the outbreak which had been simmering for some time in Afghanistan came to boiling-point, and the gauntlet of defiance was thrown down by the Ameer. Captains Campbell and Vaughan were reposing in long chairs in front of their mess, much exhausted with lawn-tennis, refreshing themselves with copious iced pegs, and enjoying a delightful experience of the _dolce far niente_ as embodied in Bombay--chairs and brandies-and-sodas. Suddenly a solitary horseman was seen madly careering across the midan, in the direction of their lines. “I say, just look at this fellow; his horse has bolted!” said Captain Campbell. “Not a bit of it,” replied his companion serenely; “don’t you see that it’s Fairfax on his chestnut, riding _ventre à terre_, as usual?” “Hallo, Fairfax, what’s up?” they shouted as he approached. “Are the barracks ablaze, and are you going for the fire-engine?” “Better than that,” he cried, clattering into the compound. “I have just come up from the general’s with glorious news--we start for the front this day week.” CHAPTER II. AFGHANISTAN. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field, And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. The Seventeenth Hussars were duly forwarded to the frontier, and found that their final destination was Dabaule, where there was a good supply of grass and water for their horses. Owing to the approach of winter, there was an utter stagnation of military operations, and in spite of occasional small raids on, and from, the neighbouring Afridis, the time passed monotonously enough. The weather was cold and cheerless, but the officers of the Seventeenth, headed by their junior major, did their very best to provide exercise and entertainment for their men and for the camp in general. Football, hockey, penny readings, and theatricals were set going with remarkable success, and helped to repel the encroachments of idleness and _ennui_. The surrounding scenery was quite different to the tiresome succession of parallel ridges presented by the ranges near the frontier. Here hill and valley were thrown together in the most admirable confusion, and clothed with short stunted shrubs and wild olives; gloomy pine-woods marked out some of the hills in bold black relief; the distant mountains were capped with snow, and the cold at times was most intense. During the suspension of hostilities there was ample leisure for correspondence, and letter-writing was a frequent resource on a dull gray afternoon. The following is one of Sir Reginald’s contributions to the mail-bag, written on his knee by the light of a small bull’s-eye lantern in the retirement of his seven-foot tent: “Camp Dabaule. “MY DEAR MARK,