M. Van Ouvenaller, who had been abroad that morning, had repeated to her, in his agitation, some of the remarks he had heard in the streets.
“Michael Tichelaer,” he declared, “is running up and down telling every man he meets that M. Cornelius is as good as acquitted, and that he must by no means escape his punishment.”
The presage of unimaginable evil conveyed in this held Agneta speechless; her spirit was so chained with terror that she could not even join Anna in her vain entreaties.
John de Witt strove to quiet and console them all by speaking of homely things; he desired his sister to prepare a meal for Cornelius, who would have had but a prison breakfast, and to lay out some garments for him, for he intended to take his brother at once to his country-house, where Maria—his wife—and her children stayed.
Jacob de Witt, he knew, would wish to accompany him, but the old man was sitting happily in the garden with his little grandson John, who had rushed to tell him that Cornelius was safe, and he would not trouble him, so commanded them not to let him know of his departure.
Not waiting for the coach, he bid the man bring it round to the Gevangenpoort in half an hour’s time. The prison was but a few yards away. As he gave this order the women were silent, and averted their eyes from one another.
They knew it meant that Cornelius would not be able to walk, or perhaps even to stand.
The day before he had been tortured … by the rack, the pulley and the cord.
Johanna felt as if the screws were turned on her own heart as the hideous image of her brother in agony flashed before her; she turned aside with gulping tears.
At about half-past nine John de Witt gently left their sorrowful company and set out on foot for the Gevangenpoort.