He was tossing in a restless sleep; William went on his knees beside him and put his cool hand on the hot forehead dewed with beads of pain and exhaustion.
The Count lay quiet awhile, then opened his eyes; he recognized the Prince immediately, and at once his dry lips began to murmur the words that were the expression of the mental agony that was killing him—
"Any news? Any supplies? Any money raised? Any means of keeping the men together?"
William firmly clasped the feverish hand that lay outside the coverlet.
"Help has come," he answered; "but now I have left a man who brought me supplies from Holland—and there are other promises of assistance."
A light came into the dying man's eyes. His tense body relaxed with a shiver of relief.
"Then—then you will be able to carry on the campaign?" he said faintly.
"With God's help I shall go on," answered the Prince gravely.
"Supplies, you say—from Holland?" murmured Hoogstraaten.
"Just brought into the camp—in gold," said William, "and, as I said, there are other promises; many, many are willing to help us—the country begins to move in our favour."