“There is no need,” said Cornelius calmly, “the door is open.”
He sat on the edge of his bed, wrapped in his blue mantle, a close cap on his head, from under which his brown curls escaped on to his shoulders; his colourless face, marred with suffering, was composed and resolute.
“I will make them listen to reason!” answered the soldier, and went out into the corridor.
“This is the end,” said Cornelius.
John smiled in sudden exaltation.
He took up his brother’s Bible and seated himself in the rush-bottomed chair beside the bed, the pages fluttered a moment under his white fingers, then he began to read—
“‘Howbeit we speak wisdom among them that are perfect—yet not the wisdom of this world nor of the princes of this world, that come to naught——’”
Cornelius bowed his head.
“‘But we speak the wisdom of God in a mystery even the hidden wisdom, which God ordained before the world unto our glory—which none of the princes of this world knew, for had they known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of Glory——’”
Outside their sole defenders were endeavouring to restrain the onslaught of Tichelaer; the corridor was choked with swords and muskets.