“You have refused?”
“Yes,” breathed William; “the negotiations still hang, but now I have the power—I shall refuse. Ah! you will not laugh at me.”
He caught the sick man’s hand in his cold fingers.
“I am not quick nor clever,” he said, with his soul in his voice, “nor a soldier like M. de Condé nor a statesman like M. de Louvois; but I can endure, and wait, and take any hardship so that I attain my end—and do you not believe that God will help me, Mynheer Triglandt?”
“With all my soul I do believe—that He has set Your Highness in this place to be His soldier.”
The pastor raised himself still higher; his haggard features glowed with an earnest rapture.
“You have before you a long and difficult task—but a holy one; you will need to be strong, and resolute, and calm—you have half Europe to hearten, half Europe to defy.”
“Speak to me!” cried William. “Speak to me like that!”
The old man stared at the row of candles on the black bureau; his pale blue eyes were clear and shining.