John de Witt rose in agitation.
“I think of your safety … let us get out of the Hague——”
“Not banished, and dishonoured,” said Cornelius firmly; “and ruined too. They have taken all my offices and dignities from me, and ordered me to pay the costs of the trial. Shall I go to my children a useless, degraded man?”
“Ah, Cornelius, but you cherish a vain dream when you imagine that the Grand Council can or will do you justice. I wish to save your life—for that is all that we can save.”
“See my sentence,” answered Cornelius eagerly; “it is so full of flaws, of breaches of the law, that they would not dare to refuse my appeal.”
John saw his brother was resolved; that he must, at least, humour him.
“I will see the sentence,” he said. “Go to the Record Office and fetch me here a copy of my brother’s sentence.”
The clerk left the room.
John de Witt went back to the bedside.
“I am in anguish till I see you out of this,” he said.