"But you?" queried Socrates from his post of vantage.
"I shall make my way to Ryswyk first and get a horse there. I shall follow you at a distance, and probably overtake you before you get to Leyden. But you will not see me after this ... unless there is trouble, which is not likely."
"But the jongejuffrouw?" persisted Socrates.
"Hush! I shall never really lose sight of you and the sledge. But you must serve her as best you can. Someone will be with her who will know how to take care of her."
"Who?"
"Her own brother of course, Mynheer Beresteyn. Over the sill, mynheer!" he now shouted, calling to Nicolaes who still stood undecided, shamed, hesitating in the broken framework of the window, "over the sill, 'tis only three feet from the ground, and horses and men are quite ready for you."
He gave a lusty cheer of satisfaction as Beresteyn, throwing all final cowardly hesitations to the wind, suddenly made up his mind to take the one wise and prudent course. He swung himself through the window, and in a few moments was standing by Diogenes' side.
"Let me at least tell you, sir ..." he began earnestly.
"Hush!—tell me nothing now ..." broke in the other man quickly, "the jongejuffrouw might hear."
"But I must thank you——"