Luttrell called at half-past three to tell him that all was well with his old battalion, and was met by a nurse who shook her head.
"The last two days he has been lying, except for a minute here and there, in a coma.

You may see him if you like, but it is a question of hours." Luttrell went into the bedroom where the sick man lay, so thin of face and hand, so bloodless.

But it seemed that the Fates wished to deal the Colonel one last ironic stroke, before they let him die.

For, while Luttrell yet stood in the room, Colonel Oakley's eyes opened.

This last moment of consciousness was his, the very last; and while it still endured, suddenly, down Portland Place, with its drums beating, its soldiers singing, marched a battalion.