The men were both troubled and frightened; one had been down to speak to Tichelaer, who had just returned from a parley with the magistrates, who were utterly in the power of the mob.
Tichelaer and Verhoef had both been deaf to the pleadings of the councillors, and had declared their intention of dragging the brothers from the prison and hanging them on the gibbet, refusing even to wait until the Prince reached the Hague.
“His Mighty Noble Highness is too tender-hearted,” Tichelaer had declared; “the work must be done in his absence.”
Under the excuse that a body of rebellious peasants were marching on the Hague, the burgher companies had ordered Tilly to withdraw and defend the entry to the town. But on his firm refusal to obey any but his masters, the States, Tichelaer, seeing all attempts to gain the prison useless while he kept guard, had gone before the magistrates a second time to extort the written command for his withdrawal.
“But, Mynheer,” said the burgher officer, “they will not give it.”
John de Witt gave him a sweet look never to be forgotten.
“You are a good fellow,” he said, “and have done your best for us … it must be as God sees fit.”
He turned into the room again.
Cornelius was reading in the little Horace, on the fly-leaf of which he had that morning written his name and the date in commemoration of his sentence.