“But,” she reassured herself, “delays must happen at times, and letters may even get lost. I have been wonderfully fortunate so far, and I will not be over-anxious or upset. If I have any belief at all in the efficacy of prayer I must keep my heart up and keep on hoping.” And she prayed as she had never prayed before, but found herself bewildered at times when she thought that millions of other women were praying just as earnestly for their own dear ones, and it was impossible that all those prayers should be answered by the safe return of those they prayed for. Women in millions were praying and men in thousands were falling. Still she would go on praying and hoping. For there was nothing else she could do. She prayed straight for Ray’s safe deliverance. She wondered at times if it were quite right to do so. But she went on praying for it, and as the days passed letterless spent much time upon her knees in great agony of mind, in spite of all her efforts after equanimity. Why should he be spared when so many were taken? Yet, “Oh, deliver him from danger and send him back to me!” was the burden of her prayers, and at times she caught herself remonstrating with God against any smaller answer. But by degrees she came to higher thought and sobbed, “I do not know what to ask for, Lord. Have him in Thy Care and do what is best for us.” And it was while she was on her knees so praying one day, that there came a hasty tap on her door, and her mother’s voice--like the voice of an angel,--“Lois--a letter--from Ray,” and she thanked God fervently and ran to open the door. There was no mistaking the handwriting. She kissed it delightedly, tore it open, and savoured its news almost at a glance. “He is wounded,” she jerked, as she skimmed it rapidly for her mother’s benefit. “Getting over it all right.... Will be sent home shortly ... may be out of it for the rest of the war.... Oh, I can’t help wishing he might! Surely we have done our share, Mother!” “Thank God, he is safe!” said Mrs Dare fervently. “Now suppose you come downstairs and tell us all about it. Auntie Mitt is in a fever to know, and Vic is like a ghost.” “I’ll follow you in one minute, dear,”--and on her knees she read her precious letter carefully through once more, then bowed her head in gratitude for its good news, and ran downstairs like herself again. “I am glad, my dear,” said Auntie Mitt, with watery sparkles in her eyes, as Lois kissed her exuberantly, “--very glad indeed. Now we would like to hear all about it.”