At this moment, to the astonishment of all, there appeared at the back of
the platform between Jowett and Halliday the lawyer, the man with a
tragic history who had been as one buried for weeks past, who had
vanished from their calculations. It was their old champion, Ingolby.
Slowly a hush came over the vast assembly as, apparently guided by his
friends on the platform, he was given a seat on the right of the
Chairman's table.
A strange sensation, partly pleasure, partly resentment, passed through
the crowd. Why did Ingolby come to remind them of better days gone--of
his own rashness, of what they had lost through that rashness? Why had he
come? They could not say and do all that they wanted with him present. It
was like having a row in the presence of a corpse. He had been a hero to
all in Lebanon, but he was not in the picture now. His day was done. It
was no place for him. Yet it was a pleasant omen that the sun broke clear
and shining over the platform as Ingolby took his seat. Presently in the
silence he half-turned his head, murmured something to the Chairman, and
then got to his feet, stretching out a hand towards the crowd.
For one moment there was silence, a little awestricken, a little painful,
and then as from one man a great cheer went up.
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