But quickly composure came again; he spoke with a coolness that confounded them.
“I have never betrayed you—I swear to God I have always done my duty——”
Tichelaer threatened him with his sword, but did not dare touch him because of the great brilliance of his eyes.
“Let me get to my brother——”
“Why do not you strike?” shouted Verhoef.
“Our friends below must have a hand in this—they are getting impatient,” the others shouted back; and John de Witt, at the point of a dozen swords, was forced down the close stairs.
Having lost everything else, he was still resolute to save his honour.
“I die by calumny—I am not what you think——” came his clear cry.
They pushed him forward. He drew back as he reached the first landing, for he could see the armed and hideous crowd below filling the open door of the prison, waiting for him; he could see the upturned faces.