to the thing he had just heard. "The Council," he repeated blankly, and then snatched at a name that had struck him. "But who is Ostrog?" he said.
"He is the organiser—the organiser of the revolt. Our Leader—in your name."
"In my name?—And you? Why is he not here?"
"He—has deputed us. I am his brother—his half-brother, Lincoln. He wants you to show yourself to those people and then come on to him. That is why he has sent. He is at the wind-vane offices directing. The people are marching."
"In your name," shouted the younger man. "They have ruled, crushed, tyrannised. At last even———"
"In my name! My name! Master?"
The younger man suddenly became audible in a pause of the outer thunder, indignant and vociferous, a high penetrating voice under his red aquiline nose and bushy moustache. "No one expected you to wake. No one expected you to wake. They were cunning. Damned tyrants! But they were taken by surprise. They did not know whether to drug you, hypnotise you, kill you."
Again the hall dominated everything.
"Ostrog is at the wind-vane offices ready— Even now there is a rumour of fighting beginning."
The man who had called himself Lincoln came close to him. "Ostrog has it planned. Trust him. We have our organisations ready. We shall seize the flying stages— Even now he may be doing that. Then———"
"This public theatre," bawled the man in yellow,
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