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Updated: June 16, 2025
Gorst's debts for him." The name called up no colour to her cheek. Maggie had forgotten Gorst, and all he had done for her. "And you're paying me back." She shook her head. "I can't ever pay you back." Poor little girl! Was that what her mind was always running on? There was silence again between them. And then Majendie looked at Maggie.
For, however conciliatory Sir Eldon Gorst might be in details, he could not promise the one thing which the nationalists supremely desired independence. This demand England refused even to consider.
The shadow of it wrapped them even after Anne had left the dining-room, as though her indignant spirit had remained behind to preserve her protest. Gorst had changed his oppression for a nervous restlessness intolerable to Majendie. "My dear fellow," he said, "what is the matter with you?" "How should I know?" said Gorst with a spurt of ill-temper. "I'm not a nerve specialist."
"What was worth while?" "Getting your feet wet, for the pleasure of not dining with Gorst?" There were moments, Anne might have owned, when he did not fail in sympathy and comprehension. Had she been capable of self-criticism, she would have found that her attitude of protest was a moral luxury, and that moral luxuries were a necessity to natures such as hers.
She felt weak and helpless before his imperturbable levity. He smoked placidly. "No," he said presently. "Gorst mayn't be a saint, but I will acquit him of an unholy passion for poor Sarah." Anne fired. "He may be a very bad man for all that." "There again, you show that you don't know what you're talking about. He is not a 'very bad man'. You've no discrimination in these things.
A week had hardly passed before Mr. Gorst dined in Prior Street again, and Anne again took refuge in Thurston Square. This time Majendie made no comment on her action. He seemed to take it for granted. But Anne, standing up heroically for her principle, was sustained by a sense of moving in a divine combat.
"I'll tell you some day, dear, but not now." Anne did not press her. She had not the courage to discuss Mr. Gorst with her, nor the heart to tell her that he was to be received into her house no more. She saw Edith growing tender over his very name; she felt that there would be tears and entreaties, and she was determined that no entreaties and no tears should move her to a base surrender.
"A young girl bluffed off Fletcher and the other ruffian there, the prisoner Gorst. She was alone, but she scared the pair of them with an empty rifle. Suppose you left your sister alone, and came back to find a half-drunk hobo trying to murder her?"
Gorst Last year Maggie could not have believed that there could be another after him. For each of these persons she would willingly have died. To each of them her soul leaped up and bowed itself, swept forward like a flame bowed and driven by the wind. As long as each loved her, the flame burned steadily and still. Maggie's soul was appeased for a season.
Therefore, in 1911, Sir Eldon Gorst was replaced by Lord Kitchener a patent warning to the nationalists that sedition would be given short shrift by the iron hand which had crushed the Khalifa and his Dervish hordes at Omdurman. Kitchener arrived in Egypt with the express mandate to restore order, and this he did with thoroughness and exactitude.
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