“Stay, my friends!” he said; “here in darkness we can see better the true proportions of this great question of free speech.  There are some who contend that in a democracy every opinion should be heard; that, just because the good sense of the majority will ever lead the country into the right paths, the minority should be accorded full and fair expression, for they cannot deflect the country’s course, and because such expression acts as a healthful safety-valve.  Moreover, they say there is no way of preventing the minority from speaking save that of force, which is unworthy of a majority, and the negation of what we are fighting for in this war.  But I say, following the great leader-writers, that in a time of national danger nobody ought to say anything except what is in accord with the opinions of the majority; for only in this way can we present a front which will seem to be united to our common enemies.  I say, and since I am the majority I must be in the right, that no one who disagrees with me must say anything if we are to save the cause of freedom and humanity.  I deprecate violence, but I am thoroughly determined to stand no nonsense, and shall not hesitate to suppress by every means in the power of the majority—­including, if need be, Prussian measures—­any whisper from those misguided and unpatriotic persons whose so-called principles induce them to assert their right to have opinions of their own.  This has ever been a free country, and they shall not imperil its freedom by their volubility and self-conceit.”  Here Mr. Lavender paused for breath, and in the darkness a faint noise, as of a mouse scrattling at a wainscot, attracted his attention.  “Wonderful,” he thought, elated by the silence, “that I should so have succeeded in riveting their attention as to be able to hear a mouse gnawing.  I must have made a considerable impression.”  And, fearing to spoil it by further speech, he set to work to grope his way round the chapel wall in the hope of coming to the door.  He had gone but a little way when his outstretched hand came into contact with something warm, which shrank away with a squeal.

“Oh!” cried Mr. Lavender, while a shiver went down his spine, “what is that?”

“Me,” said a stifled voice.  “Who are you?”

“A public speaker, madam,” answered Mr. Lavender, unutterably relieved.  Don’t be alarmed.

“Ouch!” whispered the voice.  That madman!

“I assure you, madam,” replied Mr. Lavender, striving to regain contact, “I wouldn’t harm you for the world.  Can you tell me in what portion of the hall we are?” And crouching down he stretched out his arms and felt about him.  No answer came; but he could tell that he was between two rows of chairs, and, holding to the top of one, he began to sidle along, crouching, so as not to lose touch with the chairs behind him.  He had not proceeded the length of six chairs in the pitchy darkness when the light was suddenly turned up, and he found himself glaring over the backs of the chairs in front into the eyes of a young woman, who was crouching and glaring back over the same chairs.