“Yes, and yet——”
“What?”
“Ah, they have been rioting all night—I wish we were away from the Hague——”
“We shall be—to-day.”
He drew her gently downstairs.
There his daughter Anna waited in the dining-room.
It was not yet nine, and the early sun had not touched the cool chamber.
The gaoler’s maid had gone again, simply leaving this message, that M. de Witt was to be set at liberty, and had, on hearing this, at once requested that his brother might be sent for.
“I will go,” repeated John de Witt, “at once—and bring him away.”