“About the India fleet—now being convoyed home—de Ruyter hath gone to meet it—but I am anxious, sweet——”
“Would the English attack it?” Her fair brows contracted.
“How wise thou art become!” He smiled down into her upturned face. “Yes, I do fear the English ships.”
“But war is not yet declared, my father.”
“No, and may not be—still there is so much—so much—and I am tired, dear, how tired I only know when I rest—and to think they hate me, Agneta.”
“Ah, no one hates you!” she cried.
His sad smile deepened.
“Did you not say so, yourself, dear heart, but now? The people have neither trust in me nor love—after twenty years of toil—of such toil.… Do you recall, Agneta, how they repaid Olden Barnenveldt?”
“Father!”
“He was a virtuous man, Agneta, and did more for his country than ever I have been able to do.”