He paused thoughtfully by the table and stared absently at John de Witt’s untouched glass. He was recalling M. Bentinck’s secretary, Van Mander, ardent in the Orange cause, now spending his time in idleness in the deserted Palace; it occurred to him that here was the young man to send to the camp with a letter and explanations.
He blew out the candles and went upstairs to finish dressing.
“The French over the Rhine!” he kept saying to himself. “And what of de Ruyter?”
CHAPTER VIII
SOLEBAY
The night was fine but cold; the stars had a hard brilliance and flashed like facets of steel in the cloudless sky.
A man was thoughtfully pacing the deck of a great ship.
Now and again he looked shrewdly up at these stars. A strong but moderate wind was filling the sails and the ship was steering rapidly through the darkness towards the east coast of England.
There was a pleasant whistling in the cordage, and a pleasant, steady swish of the water to right and left as the bows cut through the darkened sea.