Mrs. Penn went upstairs. It was apparently a profitless inquiry. Lizzy Dene rubbed away again at her brass, and I waited and waited. The servants began to stand about in groups, coming perpetually into the hall; the rumour that something was wrong in India had spread. By-and-by the truth was brought down by Hill, with great tears upon her face. Sir Thomas Chandos was dead. It was not a false report, as had once come, of his death. Ah, no. He had fallen in battle, gallantly leading his men to the charge. The Commander-in-Chief in India had written to Lady Chandos with his own hand: he said how much her son was regretted—that all the officers who could be spared attended the funeral. A shot had struck him in the breast. He had but time to say a few words, and died, his mother's name being the last upon his lips. Hickens entered the oak-parlour and drew down the white blinds. While talking of Sir Thomas he burst into tears. It all proved to me how much Thomas Chandos had been liked by those about him. The breakfast things were taken away; an hour passed, and the morning was growing weary, when Mr. Chandos came down, traces of emotion on his face. Alas! he was no longer "Mr." but Sir Harry Chandos. The first person I heard give him his title was Dr. Laken. How strange it was!—had the news arrived only on the previous morning, the title must have remained in abeyance. Poor, banned, dying George had been the heir to it by right of birth but I suppose the law would not have given it to him. Dr. Laken called Mr. Chandos "Sir Harry" three or four times in the presence of the servants very pointedly. I thought he wanted to impress tacitly upon them the fact that there was no intervening heir. It was very strange; all: those blinds that they had not dared to draw down for George, the grief they had not liked to show, the mourning they might have been doubtful whether to assume; all did duty for both brothers now, and might be open and legitimate. "I think the shadow of death had fallen upon Thomas when he wrote," said Mr. Chandos, in a low tone. And Dr. Laken echoed the words questioningly. "The shadow of death?" "I mean the prevision of it. Throughout his letter to me a vein of sadness runs; and he concludes it, 'Farewell, Harry; God bless you!' He never so wrote before. You shall read the letter, Laken: my mother has it now." Lady Chandos had been coming down that day, they said; but the news had stopped it, and she would not now be seen until the morrow. The morning went on. Two official-looking people came, gentlemen, and were taken by Dr. Laken to the west wing. I gathered that it had something to do with identification, in case there should be any doubt afterwards of the death: both of them had known George Heneage in the days gone by.