The western light of evening filled the old, plain but pleasant castle as the Nassau Princes and their guests went down to the chapel, where the preacher had already entered for the evening service.
This chapel, once gorgeous with the beautiful pomp of the ancient faith, was now entirely bare of all ornament.
Plain glass filled the windows which had once glowed with regal colours; the ordinary light of day now entered and lit all the aisles and arches which had once been obscured with mysterious gloom; a coat of whitewash obliterated the paintings on walls and pillars and ceiling; plain rows of benches took the place of carved prie-Dieu and tasselled cushions.
The pulpit was of simple wood, the seat of the Nassau family directly facing it; in each place a Bible and a Prayer Book with a broad green marker were laid.
Green curtains on brass rods screened off the upper portion of the arches, and green boughs waved against the clear windows; the white interior of the church was all coloured with this green reflection, which was extraordinarily cool, quiet, and peaceful.
When William and his companions entered the chapel it was already nearly full, most of the household being in their places.
In the Nassau pew sat the Countess of Nassau, Juliana of Stolberg, her three daughters—Magdalena, Juliana, and Catherine, the wife of Van der Berg.
Near them were their women. Anne had not come, being literally ill with rage at her husband's decision to sell his property; but Rénèe le Meung was there. She glanced continually at the four Nassau women, so handsome, so modest, so fine with their simple attire and princely carriage; she saw that the Countess of Nassau was pale, and guessed the reason: of all who were sacrificing to the Protestant cause and the rescue of the Netherlands, no one was giving what this lady was—four splendid sons to war and peril, a fifth to possible ruin, all her own possessions, the husband of her favourite daughter—the wealth and security of her house, and all her kinsmen.
When William and his brothers entered and took their places in the pew before her, she lifted her eyes from her Bible and gazed at them with unspeakable yearning and unspeakable triumph.
This was an offering worthy to put before the Lord, these were men fit to be dedicated to His service: the noble, magnificent William, the pride of his name, and famous in Europe; the handsome Louis, gallant, pious, intelligent, and brave; the chivalrous Adolphus in his healthy young manhood; Henry, the graceful youth already promising all the splendours of his race; John, resolute, loyal, capable, who had laid down all he possessed at the service of his brother,—their mother's gaze travelled from one to the other of them as they sat before her, and her heart contracted and her lips trembled as she wondered when she would see them all together again—as she wondered how many would return to her, how many would fall in the struggle on which they were now entering.