The terrible waste of humanity’s best, this all-superfluous sorrow thrust upon a world which never lacked for sorrows, the inhuman savagery of this new German warfare, the impossibility, as it seemed to her, of any single man coming out alive, from the inferno of shot and shell described by the papers, and those awful casualty lists,--all these lay heavy on her soul in spite of all her utmost efforts after hope and faith. “Alma was right. I must get to work or I shall go mad,” she said to herself. And after consultation with Auntie Mitt and her mother, they decided, with an eye to Uncle Tony’s wishes in the matter, to offer the hospitality of Oakdene to the War Office for any wounded they chose to send, either officers or privates. In due course an official came down, inspected the premises, indicated the necessary preparations, and presently the house was as busy as a hive with the ordered doings of ten wounded officers and four nurses in charge. And in face of the actual and urgent necessities of these warmly-welcomed guests, neither Lois nor Auntie Mitt nor Mrs Dare had a spare moment to waste on their own anxieties and fears. XXIX Ray Luard was sitting on a barrel in a little station in the north-west of France, watching his men unload railway trucks, when he received the news of Uncle Tony’s death. An escort just returned from Head-Quarters had brought up the belated mail, and glancing quickly at the envelopes, he hurriedly opened the one in Lois’s handwriting, with a tightening of the lips at its narrow black edging. He was not altogether unprepared. In spite of the Colonel’s desire that word of his illness should not add to his nephew’s already mighty anxieties, they had not judged it right to keep him entirely in the dark. “Dear old chap!” murmured Ray to himself, as the news broke on him. “Well ... he did his duty and died for his country as surely as any of the rest of us.... (Steady there, boys, or some of you will be getting smashed!)... But they’ll miss him terribly.... I wish this cursed business was all over.... Lois is Lady Luard ... I wonder how she feels about it. I’ll bet she nearly had a fit when the first person called her that. And I bet that would be Auntie Mitt. She’s the one for giving folks their proper titles. (“Knock off for a quarter-of-an-hour, Mac!”--to his Sergeant. “That’s heavy work.”) Well, well!--Lady Luard!--and a sweeter one there never could be. Damn this business! It _would_ be rough luck to be knocked out right on top of this. However, Lois is all right. That’s one comfort.” He looked lean and fit. Since Lois watched them swing away to the skirling of the pipes at Watford, they had travelled far, though at the present moment they were nearer home than they had been any time this month or more.