With dim but resolute eyes he looked on at his son and his son’s children, and in his heart he gave thanks to God for his noble offspring. John de Witt was such an one as the pure faith might be proud of; one who had followed in the footsteps of the early members of a stern and persecuted faith; one such as Jacob de Witt would have his son, an upright and humble servant of high things. Very far away seemed the clamour of the factions, the rumours of wars, the jealousies, the ambitions, the heat of politics; very far from this peaceful home of John de Witt. Neither did it seem possible that hate or malice should enter here, that lies or calumny, or any ignoble passions, should strike at such goodness and such innocence. The vilest must love John de Witt, the meanest respect him in his simple, bereaved, and united home. His helpless children were not more spotless, more free of dishonour, than he who for twenty years had guided a great nation through a difficult and perilous way. And how are they rewarding him? thought Jacob de Witt grimly. How are they rewarding him? Into the gathered peace and silence came a distant, ominous sound. The Grand Pensionary listened. The noise grew. He put down his little son and rose. “What is that?” Agneta shuddered. “Another riot----” “Close the window,” said John de Witt; “close the window.” CHAPTER III SCHEVENINGEN The Prince drew rein at the Palace steps. “Bromley,” he said. The Englishman came down to his master’s stirrup. “Is M. Fagel here?” “Yes, Highness; he is waiting for you.” “Ah!” William patted his horse’s neck. “Hath he come from the Assembly?” “Yes, Highness--Their Noble Mightinesses sat all night.” “I trust that they have come to a wise decision,” remarked the Prince. “And, Bromley, have you discovered the whereabouts of M. Triglandt?” “Highness, I wrote to Utrecht----” “I wrote there,” interrupted William impatiently, “and my letter was returned, as M. Triglandt had left his lodgings.” “Highness, I have discovered that he fell ill----” “Ill!” exclaimed the Prince. “--and was conveyed by relatives to Arnheim----” “Well, you will write there and give him my commands to return to the Hague.” William flung the reins to his groom and dismounted. “You may add,” he continued, “that I take the first occasion to ask his return, and that any friend of mine is honoured in the Hague now.” He smiled with his eyes and touched Mr. Bromley on the arm with his whip. “Tell them to keep the horse, as afterwards I am promised at the ‘Huis ten bosch.’” Then he turned slowly into the house. M. Gaspard Fagel, a man of talents but a servile spirit, the rival of M. de Witt, and already almost completely under the influence of the Prince, waited in the library, or the chamber that served for such; the room where Van Mander had first seen the Prince, and where William always received such as waited on him.