And the feet of the people were beating time--tramp, tramp.
He was urged towards the door.

He obeyed mechanically.

The strength of that chant took hold of him, stirred him, emboldened him.

The hall opened to him, a vast welter of fluttering colour swaying to the music.
"Wave your arm to them," said Lincoln.

"Wave your arm to them." "This," said a voice on the other side, "he must have this." Arms were about his neck detaining him in the doorway, and a black subtly-folding mantle hung from his shoulders.