“You stay, oh, sir! oh, sir! don’t you understand that you will be condemned to death, executed on the scaffold, perhaps assassinated and torn to pieces, just like Mynheer John and Mynheer Cornelius. For heaven’s sake, don’t think of me, but fly from this place. Take care, it bears ill luck to the De Witts!”
“Halloa!” cried the jailer, recovering his senses, “who is talking of those rogues, those wretches, those villains, the De Witts?”
“Don’t be angry, my good man,” said Cornelius, with his good-tempered smile, “the worst thing for a fracture is excitement, by which the blood is heated.”
Thereupon, he said in an undertone to Rosa—
“My child, I am innocent, and I shall await my trial with tranquillity and an easy mind.”
“Hush,” said Rosa.
“Why hush?”
“My father must not suppose that we have been talking to each other.”
“What harm would that do?”
“What harm? He would never allow me to come here any more,” said Rosa.