If you truly desire to come to God and seek to live a
godly life, you must at once wear this suit, and come out to
accept your everlasting good fortune.' Did the words bear no
meaning to the mystic of Gravesend? But he was an English
gentleman, an English officer. He flung the clothes to the
ground, and trampled on them in the sight of all. Then, alone, he
went up to the roof of his high palace, and turned the telescope
once more, almost mechanically, towards the north.
But nothing broke the immovability of that hard horizon; and,
indeed, how was it possible that help should come to him now? He
seemed to be utterly abandoned. Sir Evelyn Baring had disappeared
into his financial conference. In England, Mr. Gladstone had held
firm, had outfaced the House of Commons, had ignored the Press.
He appeared to have triumphed. Though it was clear that no
preparations of any kind were being made for the relief of
Gordon, the anxiety and agitation of the public, which had risen
so suddenly to such a height of vehemence, had died down. The
dangerous beast had been quelled by the stern eye of its master.
Other questions became more interesting--the Reform Bill, the
Russians, the House of Lords. Gordon, silent in Khartoum, had
almost dropped out of remembrance. And yet, help did come after
all. And it came from an unexpected quarter.
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