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Updated: May 27, 2025
Her desertion, particularly at a crisis, made Rosemary McClean cry, and set her father to quoting Shakespeare's "King Lear." "Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude!" All Scotsmen seem to have a natural proclivity for quoting the appropriate dirge when sorrow shows itself.
His own face muscles were set rigidly, and he questioned them as he might have cross-examined a spy caught in the act. His voice was uncompromising, and his manner stern. "Do you both understand how serious this situation is?" he asked. "We naturally do," said Duncan McClean.
As he put it to himself, it was "the hell of a position for a man to find himself in!" He caught himself wondering whether his thoughts would have been the same, and whether his conscience would have racked him quite as much, had Rosemary McClean been older, and less lovely, and a little more sour-tongued.
The missionary went in search of a water-jar, and Rosemary McClean bent down above the ancient, shrivelled, sorry-looking mummy of a woman drew the wrinkled head into her lap stroked the drawn face and wept over her. The spent, age-weakened, dried-out widow had fainted; there was no wakened self-consciousness of black and white to interfere.
Almost on the stroke of sunrise Rosemary McClean stepped out settled her sun-helmet, with a moue above the chin-strap that was wasted on flat-bosomed, black grandmotherdom and sulky groom and mounted. She needed no help.
The mob would suffer in the process, but its fanaticism its religious prejudice and numbers would surely win the day. As for Rosemary McClean, the more he considered her the more his brown eyes glowed. He had promised to make her Maharanee. But he knew too thoroughly what that would mean not to entertain more than a passing doubt as to the wisdom of the course.
"Go ahead!" she nodded. "I'll obey!" "And I will not prevent!" said Duncan McClean, smiling and straightening his spectacles. Cunningham left them and walked over to the parapet, where the whole garrison was bending excitedly now above the battlement. There were more than forty men, most of them clustered near Alwa and Mahommed Gunga. Mahommed Gunga was busy counting.
Otherwise you will remain non-combatants, and I shall take such measures for your safety as I see fit. Time presses. Your answer, please!" "I will obey your legal orders," said McClean, still making full use of the lantern. "I refuse to admit the qualification," answered Cunningham promptly. "Either you will obey, or you will not. You are asked to say which, that is all."
He has come to man's estate. Look at the set of that pair of shoulders. Mark his strength!" "I expect any one of those Rajputs is physically stronger," answered Rosemary, in no mood to praise any one. "I was thinking of the strength of character he expresses rather than of his actual muscles," said McClean. "Bismillah!"
There was no precedent for this happening, and even the Maharajah and the priests were at a momentary loss stood waiting, staring and said nothing. "Maharajah-sahib! I must interrupt your ceremony. I must have word with you at once!" It was Duncan McClean, bareheaded, holding his daughter's hand. They had no weapons; they were messengers of peace, protesting, or so they looked.
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