“Come in, Craeke, and mind well what my brother will tell you.” “No, John; it will not suffice to send a verbal message; unfortunately, I shall be obliged to write.” “And why that?” “Because Van Baerle will neither give up the parcel nor burn it without a special command to do so.” “But will you be able to write, poor old fellow?” John asked, with a look on the scorched and bruised hands of the unfortunate sufferer. “If I had pen and ink you would soon see,” said Cornelius. “Here is a pencil, at any rate.” “Have you any paper? for they have left me nothing.” “Here, take this Bible, and tear out the fly-leaf.” “Very well, that will do.” “But your writing will be illegible.” “Just leave me alone for that,” said Cornelius. “The executioners have indeed pinched me badly enough, but my hand will not tremble once in tracing the few lines which are requisite.” And really Cornelius took the pencil and began to write, when through the white linen bandages drops of blood oozed out which the pressure of the fingers against the pencil squeezed from the raw flesh. A cold sweat stood on the brow of the Grand Pensionary. Cornelius wrote:-- “My dear Godson,-- “Burn the parcel which I have intrusted to you. Burn it without looking at it, and without opening it, so that its contents may for ever remain unknown to yourself. Secrets of this description are death to those with whom they are deposited. Burn it, and you will have saved John and Cornelius de Witt. “Farewell, and love me. “Cornelius de Witt “August 20th, 1672.” John, with tears in his eyes, wiped off a drop of the noble blood which had soiled the leaf, and, after having handed the despatch to Craeke with a last direction, returned to Cornelius, who seemed overcome by intense pain, and near fainting. “Now,” said he, “when honest Craeke sounds his coxswain’s whistle, it will be a signal of his being clear of the crowd, and of his having reached the other side of the pond. And then it will be our turn to depart.” Five minutes had not elapsed, before a long and shrill whistle was heard through the din and noise of the square of the Buytenhof. John gratefully raised his eyes to heaven. “And now,” said he, “let us off, Cornelius.” Chapter 3. The Pupil of John de Witt Whilst the clamour of the crowd in the square of Buytenhof, which grew more and more menacing against the two brothers, determined John de Witt to hasten the departure of his brother Cornelius, a deputation of burghers had gone to the Town-hall to demand the withdrawal of Tilly’s horse. It was not far from the Buytenhof to Hoogstraet (High Street); and a stranger, who since the beginning of this scene had watched all its incidents with intense interest, was seen to wend his way with, or rather in the wake of, the others towards the Town-hall, to hear as soon as possible the current news of the hour.