sodden with thawing snow. Of all his fluctuating impressions the dominant
ones presented an antagonism; on the one hand was the White Council,
powerful, disciplined, few, the White Council from which he had just
escaped; and on the other, monstrous crowds, packed masses of
indistinguishable people clamouring his name, hailing him Master. The
other side had imprisoned him, debated his death. These shouting
thousands beyond the little doorway had rescued him. But why these things
should be so he could not understand.

The door opened, Lincoln's voice was swept away and drowned, and a rash
of people followed on the heels of the tumult. These intruders came
towards him and Lincoln gesticulating. The voices without explained their
soundless lips. "Show us the Sleeper, show us the Sleeper!" was the
burden of the uproar. Men were bawling for "Order! Silence!"

Graham glanced towards the open doorway, and saw a tall, oblong picture
of the hall beyond, a waving, incessant confusion of crowded, shouting
faces, men and women together, waving pale blue garments, extended hands.
Many were standing, one man in rags of dark brown, a gaunt figure, stood
on the seat and waved a black cloth. He met the wonder and expectation of
the girl's eyes. What did these people expect from him. He was dimly
aware that the tumult outside had changed its character, was in some way
beating, marching. His own mind, too, changed. For a space he did not
recognise the influence that was transforming him. But a moment that was
near to panic passed. He tried to make audible inquiries of what was
required of him.

Lincoln was shouting in his ear, but Graham was deafened to that. All the
others save the woman gesticulated towards the hall. He perceived what
had happened to the uproar. The whole mass of people was chanting