He was Master of the Earth, he was a man 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.