“Hath he not a fair trial?” demanded the Stadtholder.
“By Heaven, no!”
“I have heard very little of it.… I have been so occupied with the war.”
“Your Highness has the civil administration also.”
William glanced at him quickly.
“If your brother is innocent will he not be acquitted?”
“He will be condemned to death unless Your Highness interferes—he, my brother, on the word of a man whom he once ordered to be fined for beating his maid-servant.”
The Stadtholder did not answer.
John de Witt spoke again, his cheek pale but his eyes burning.
“My noble lord—if you ever hated me, you are avenged. I would never have wished you a tenth of what has befallen me. You have your father’s dignities; the people have placed you where he sat, and my Republic is swept aside—is a mere interlude in the reign of the House of Orange. If ever you wished me evil consider that I see my life-work come to nothing, that I hear myself cursed by the people I have toiled for, that I am accused of being a thief and a traitor—and be satisfied.