“John, I am innocent of even the shadow of what is imputed to me.”
“This to me!” cried his brother reproachfully.
“A man might well get bemused with all their lies,” said Cornelius wearily.
Silence again. An unaccountable uneasiness possessed John de Witt; he longed to see his brother at his side in his coach, the open country before them, the Hague behind.
“Bacherus is very long.” He broke the pause at last.
The Record Office was only a few moments’ walk distant.
John looked from the window again.
The crowd had increased.
“Van Ouvenaller,” he said, “go and see what hath become of M. Bacherus.”
The second clerk left.