TOO LATE. 115 CHAPTER XXVIII.

TOO LATE.

You know well enough, my reader, that we have now reached the catas¬ trophe of the whole play. You know how tragically it ends. How a sombre curtain falls on a gloomy scene—-a hero dead, a city lost, an army powerless, a country in tears. A year ago that hero left his country to save another ; and from that date to this he has thought of naught else. Many have died for their country, many for their creed, many for their friends ; but few alone unaided, single-handed, for friends united to them by no lies but such as bind a weak and trusting nation to a strong and worthy heart. “Greater love,” said the most loving Man that ever the world saw, “hath no man than this : that a man should lay down his life for his friends.” Let us be glad that we have on this earth those who can reach this divine ideal.

Not without dimly-shaped fears did England see her great pro-consul venture forth alone to quiet an unruly nation. From then till now un¬ ceasingly the clouds gathered thick around him. At no time did the sky seem altogether bright. And now the thunders that muttered on the horizon remorsely crash over his head.—It needs not to spin out the tale.

General Gordon cannot communicate with Wolseley, so Wolseley will communicate with General Gordon. Everything is prepared : there are troops at Korti, there are troops at Gakdul, there are steamers at Metemneh. These last shall go up the river and greet him—greet him in the name of England’s army which has at last reached him.

What a thrill of pleasure must have gone through the ranks when the orders are issued. They are actually there ; they will see him ; shake hands with him ; glory over him ; rescue him. What mattered the hardships of the journey now : the worn-out limbs, the burning thirst, the painful wounds ? They scorned them before ; they jest at them now. Besides, has not the great general they are about to save gone through the same 1 Yes ; and ten times more. And what a man to save.—The fate of twelve million people hang on his words. All Europe—nay, Asia and the chief part of Africa, are guided by his acts.

To return. Let us trace, step by step, the course of this little expedition. At eight o’clock on the morning of January the 24th of the present year, two steamers, the Bordein and the Tall-Haweiya left Metemneh for Khar-