During the long weeks of June Ned found it hard to keep the precious store untouched. His aunt's figure had shrunk to a shadow of her former self, and she was scarce able to cross the room. The girls' cheeks were hollow and bloodless with famine, and although none of them ever asked him to break in upon the store, their faces pleaded more powerfully than any words could have done; and yet they were better off than many, for every night Ned either went out from the gates or let himself down by a rope from the wall and returned with a supply of grass and herbage. It was fortunate for the girls that there was no necessity to go out of doors, for the sights there would have shaken the strongest. Men, women, and children fell dead by scores in the streets, and the survivors had neither strength nor heart to carry them away and bury them. On the 1st of July the burghers hung out a flag of truce, and deputies went out to confer with Don Frederick. The latter, however, would grant no terms whatever, and they returned to the city. Two days later a tremendous cannonade was opened upon the town, and the walls broken down in several places, but the Spaniards did not advance to the assault, knowing that the town could not hold out many days longer. Two more parleys were held, but without result, and the black flag was hoisted upon the cathedral tower as a signal of despair; but soon afterwards a pigeon flew into the town with a letter from the prince, begging them to hold out for two days longer, as succour was approaching. The prince had indeed done all that was possible. He assembled the citizens of Delft in the marketplace, and said that if any troops could be gathered he would march in person at their head to the relief of the city. There were no soldiers to be obtained; but 4000 armed volunteers from the various Dutch cities assembled, and 600 mounted troops. The prince placed himself at their head, but the magistrates and burghers of the towns would not allow him to hazard a life so indispensable to the existence of Holland, and the troops themselves refused to march unless he abandoned his intention. He at last reluctantly consented, and handed over the command of the expedition to Baron Batenburg.