The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 6Parker, Gilbert
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The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 6
Parker, Gilbert
Society of Friends -- Fiction
"The ground of battle fair!" she protested bitterly. "He did not know
that there was strife between you. He did not fight you. I think that
he always loved you, Excellency. He would have given his life for you,
if it had been in danger. Is there in that letter one word that any man
could wish unwritten when the world was all ended for all men? But no,
there was no strife between you--there was only hatred on your part. He
was so much greater than you that you should feel no rivalry, no strife.
The sword he carries cuts as wide as Time. You are of a petty day in a
petty land. Your mouth will soon be filled with dust, and you will be
forgotten. He will live in the history of the world. Excellency,
I plead for him because I owe him so much: he killed a man and brought
upon himself a lifelong misery for me. It is all I can do, plead to you
who know the truth about him--yes, you know the truth--to make an effort
to save him. It may be too late; but yet God may be waiting for you to
lift your hand. You said the circle may be smaller, but it may be
unbroken still. Will you not do a great thing once, and win a woman's
gratitude, and the thanks of the world, by trying to save one who makes
us think better of humanity? Will you not have the name of Nahoum Pasha
linked with his--with his who thought you were his friend? Will you not
save him?"
He got slowly to his feet, a strange look in his eyes. "Your words are
useless. I will not save him for your sake; I will not save him for the
world's sake; I will not save him--"
A cry of pain and grief broke from her, and she buried her face in her
hands.
"--I will not save him for any other sake than his own."
He paused. Slowly, as dazed as though she had received a blow, Hylda
raised her face and her hands dropped in her lap.
"For any other sake than his own!" Her eyes gazed at him in a
bewildered, piteous way. What did he mean? His voice seemed to come
from afar off.
"Did you think that you could save him? That I would listen to you, if I
did not listen to him? No, no, madame. Not even did he conquer me; but
something greater than himself within himself, it conquered me."
She got to her feet gasping, her hands stretched out. "Oh, is it true--
is it true?" she cried.
"The West has conquered," he answered.
"You will help him--you will try to save him?" "When, a month ago, I
read the letter you have read, I tried to save him. I sent secretly four
thousand men who were at Wady Halfa to relieve him--if it could be done;
five hundred to push forward on the quickest of the armed steamers, the
rest to follow as fast as possible. I did my best. That was a month
ago, and I am waiting--waiting and hoping, madame."
Suddenly she broke down. Tears streamed from her eyes. She sank into
the chair, and sobs shook her from head to foot.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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