With the horror of the suggestion an ungovernable impulse filled her--an impulse to rise--to go to him--sweep the doubt from his mind.

But an instant later the merely egotistical thought was obliterated by the greater issues that filled the moment.
After Bale-Corphew had spoken an uproar--a clamor--had suddenly filled the chapel; and now the rapt concourse of people had become as a turbulent sea.

The Precursor, pale with intense nervous excitement, stood vainly striving to make his voice heard; while Bale-Corphew, closely surrounded by his fellow-Mystics, gesticulated violently.
At last the Prophet raised his hand; and by habit and training, the people subsided into silence.
Instantly Bale-Corphew's voice rang out.
"Listen!" he cried; "listen!" But again the Precursor interrupted.
"People," he demanded, "will you refuse the Prophet the right of speech?
Will you refuse to hear the Prophet's words ?" "This is sacrilege! Sacrilege!" Norov suddenly raised his voice.

"Listen to your Councillor!" "Listen to the Prophet! The Voice of the Prophet calls upon you.

Will you deny it ?" The Precursor's voice shook with excitement.
"This is the truth! I tell you the truth!" Bale-Corphew appealed to the people with out-stretched arms.
But the tumult broke forth again.
"Mystics! Mystics!" Old Arian's shrill, alarmed tones rose for an instant, only to be drowned in the clamor.
Then out of the confused babel of sound one cry became distinguishable.
"The Prophet! The Prophet! Let the Prophet speak!" For a space confusion reigned; then, answering to the demand, the Prophet again lifted his right hand.
As though it exercised some potent spell, his calm, imperious gesture subdued the turmoil.