"Pro-German!"
Wilderton flung up his hand.
"The Germans to hell!" he said simply.
The dull voice repeated:
"Pro-German!" And the speaker on the platform called out: "Come out of that! When we want you to beg us off we'll let you know."
Wilderton spun round to him.
"You're all wonderful!" he began, but a hymn-book hit him fearfully on the forehead, and he sank down into the bottom of the pulpit. This last blow, coming on the top of so many others, had deprived him of intelligent consciousness; he was but vaguely aware of more speeches, cheers, and tramplings, then of a long hush, and presently found himself walking out of the chapel door between Rudstock and a policeman. It was not the door by which they had entered, and led to an empty courtyard.
"Can you walk?" said the policeman.
Wilderton nodded.
"Then walk off!" said the policeman, and withdrew again into the house of God.