About tea-time, when Lois was sitting with him,--just sitting quietly by his bed-side so that he should not feel lonely, for he had declined to be read to, he turned quietly to her and feebly extended his hand. She took it in her two warm ones throbbing with life and sudden fear. It felt very thin and cold, and, with a great dread at her heart, it seemed to her that his face was changed. It was gray, and very weary. “I am so glad, dear,--so very glad,” he whispered,--“about you and Ray.... Good lad! ... he will come back to you ... and Con--good lad too!... God bless you all!--all!” Lois had slipped on to her knees beside the bed, and the tears were running down her face in spite of herself. “No!” he said. “Don’t cry!... Very tired.... I shall be glad ... to rest.” Then he suddenly raised himself in the bed, and looked beyond her. “Last Post!” he said, quite clearly. “Thank God, I have done my duty!” and then he sank back. And Lois released one hand, from the thin cold hand which had no longer any response in it, and beat upon the floor with it to call the others. XXVI Almost inevitable as it had more than once seemed, in the crises of his illness, the Colonel’s death was a great shock to them all. At the sound of Lois’s hasty tattoo on the floor, the others had hastened up to her. They found her still clasping the one thin cold hand with one of hers and still beating the floor with the other. They thought at first that it might be a fainting fit--which in itself, in the circumstances, would have been ominous enough. But briefest examination showed them that their old friend had answered The Call and was gone. They were down again in the small sitting-room, discussing it quietly and sadly, when Auntie Mitt, after staring fixedly at Lois for a full minute, as though she had suddenly detected something strange in her appearance, said suddenly, “My dear, you are Lady Luard now.” And Lois stared back at them both with a startled look, and gasped, “I never thought of that. Oh, I wish Ray were here!” They all wished that, but no amount of wishing will bring men home from the war. “We must send Alma word at once,” said Mrs Dare. “I will write out a telegram.” “It will be a shock to her,” said Auntie Mitt. “Perhaps, my dear, a letter----” “Alma was prepared for the worst,” said Mrs Dare. “Last time she was here she told me it would be a miracle if he got through such an illness at his age. She would like to know at once, I am sure,” and she sat down at the writing table to prepare the telegram. And while they were still in the midst of these agitations, and Lois was wondering how she would ever be able to reconcile herself to the inevitable changes, she happened to glance vaguely through the window and saw Alma coming quickly up the front path. “Here she is,” she cried, and jumped up and ran to meet her. At sight of Lois at the door, Alma exultingly waved a paper she carried in her hand and quickened her pace almost to a run.