"Lois!" he whispered faintly. "Lois—my—kiss me!"
Lois looked up at her husband. He nodded without meeting her eyes. Her lips rested on the chilly forehead.
"Dear John!"
"Lois—you—tell the Rajah——" He struggled fiercely for breath and his raised hand pointed piteously at Travers. "Tell him—not—his own"—The words died into a choked silence.
"Brandy—here! He's trying to say something. What is it, man?"
Stafford turned with a last effort, his lips parted. A second time he pointed with a desperate insistency at Travers—then with a sudden quick-drawn sigh he sank back, his face against Lois' shoulder. Colonel Carmichael, who knew death too well, rose heavily to his feet.
"It's all over," he said. "We can do nothing more for him, and we must leave him. Come, Lois."
His stern command roused her from her stupor of half-incredulous sorrow. Gently she laid the lifeless head upon the cushions which Beatrice had brought, and crossed the hands over the quiet breast. This time she fought in vain against the blinding tears. They fell on the face of the dead man, and, moved by an irresistible impulse, she bent once more and kissed him.
"God bless you, John!" Then she rose and faced her husband. "I can not help it," she said. "He is dead."
Travers said nothing. He was clinging to the verandah, and his face was grey. Outside the noise and confusion had increased. They could hear yells and imprecations, and a stone whizzed through the trees, falling a few feet short of where the little party stood. Colonel Carmichael shook Travers by the arm.