“No, on the contrary, John, we shall at the same time save our lives and regain our popularity.” “But what have you done with these letters?” “I have intrusted them to the care of Cornelius van Baerle, my godson, whom you know, and who lives at Dort.” “Poor honest Van Baerle! who knows so much, and yet thinks of nothing but of flowers and of God who made them. You have intrusted him with this fatal secret; it will be his ruin, poor soul!” “His ruin?” “Yes, for he will either be strong or he will be weak. If he is strong, he will, when he hears of what has happened to us, boast of our acquaintance; if he is weak, he will be afraid on account of his connection with us: if he is strong, he will betray the secret by his boldness; if he is weak, he will allow it to be forced from him. In either case he is lost, and so are we. Let us, therefore, fly, fly, as long as there is still time.” Cornelius de Witt, raising himself on his couch, and grasping the hand of his brother, who shuddered at the touch of his linen bandages, replied,-- “Do not I know my godson? have not I been enabled to read every thought in Van Baerle’s mind, and every sentiment in his heart? You ask whether he is strong or weak. He is neither the one nor the other; but that is not now the question. The principal point is, that he is sure not to divulge the secret, for the very good reason that he does not know it himself.” John turned round in surprise. “You must know, my dear brother, that I have been trained in the school of that distinguished politician John de Witt; and I repeat to you, that Van Baerle is not aware of the nature and importance of the deposit which I have intrusted to him.” “Quick then,” cried John, “as there is still time, let us convey to him directions to burn the parcel.” “Through whom?” “Through my servant Craeke, who was to have accompanied us on horseback, and who has entered the prison with me, to assist you downstairs.” “Consider well before having those precious documents burnt, John!” “I consider, above all things, that the brothers De Witt must necessarily save their lives, to be able to save their character. If we are dead, who will defend us? Who will have fully understood our intentions?” “You expect, then, that they would kill us if those papers were found?” John, without answering, pointed with his hand to the square, whence, at that very moment, fierce shouts and savage yells made themselves heard. “Yes, yes,” said Cornelius, “I hear these shouts very plainly, but what is their meaning?” John opened the window. “Death to the traitors!” howled the populace. “Do you hear now, Cornelius?” “To the traitors! that means us!” said the prisoner, raising his eyes to heaven and shrugging his shoulders. “Yes, it means us,” repeated John. “Where is Craeke?” “At the door of your cell, I suppose.” “Let him enter then.” John opened the door; the faithful servant was waiting on the threshold.