William caught his hands.
“Mynheer Triglandt,” he cried in a tone of terror, “I am afraid! Can I do it? They all look to me—to save them. M. de Witt passes on to me his hopeless task—to save them!”
He cowered against the bed.
“I feel as if my soul fainted—but I will not fail them. Ah, heart, heart!”
“God will inspire you,” gasped the pastor. “He—alone.”
“I trust in Him; if He should try me with bitternesses I will try to submit—but sometimes——Yesterday I saw an old man on the Rhine—struggling with a barge—and as it advanced a little it was swept back; and he strove again—and once more gained an inch—and was driven back; and as I watched he made a little desperate headway. My affairs are even as that poor man’s—I must strive and strive, and be content if with much labour I gain a little.”
He staggered to his feet and bent low over the pillow.
“What can I do for you?” he whispered. He was sobbing bitterly.
“Nothing—do not weep.”
The old man caught his coat and arm.