“And now,” continued Cornelius,--wiping away a tear which was glistening in his eye, and which was shed much more for that marvellous black tulip which he was not to see than for the life which he was about to lose,--“I have no wish left, except that the tulip should be called Rosa Barlœnsis, that is to say, that its name should combine yours and mine; and as, of course, you do not understand Latin, and might therefore forget this name, try to get for me pencil and paper, that I may write it down for you.” Rosa sobbed afresh, and handed to him a book, bound in shagreen, which bore the initials C. W. “What is this?” asked the prisoner. “Alas!” replied Rosa, “it is the Bible of your poor godfather, Cornelius de Witt. From it he derived strength to endure the torture, and to bear his sentence without flinching. I found it in this cell, after the death of the martyr, and have preserved it as a relic. To-day I brought it to you, for it seemed to me that this book must possess in itself a divine power. Write in it what you have to write, Mynheer Cornelius; and though, unfortunately, I am not able to read, I will take care that what you write shall be accomplished.” Cornelius took the Bible, and kissed it reverently. “With what shall I write?” asked Cornelius. “There is a pencil in the Bible,” said Rosa. This was the pencil which John de Witt had lent to his brother, and which he had forgotten to take away with him. Cornelius took it, and on the second fly leaf (for it will be remembered that the first was torn out), drawing near his end like his godfather, he wrote with a no less firm hand:-- “On this day, the 23d of August, 1672, being on the point of rendering, although innocent, my soul to God on the scaffold, I bequeath to Rosa Gryphus the only worldly goods which remain to me of all that I have possessed in this world, the rest having been confiscated; I bequeath, I say, to Rosa Gryphus three bulbs, which I am convinced must produce, in the next May, the Grand Black Tulip for which a prize of a hundred thousand guilders has been offered by the Haarlem Society, requesting that she may be paid the same sum in my stead, as my sole heiress, under the only condition of her marrying a respectable young man of about my age, who loves her, and whom she loves, and of her giving the black tulip, which will constitute a new species, the name of Rosa Barlœnsis, that is to say, hers and mine combined. “So may God grant me mercy, and to her health and long life! “Cornelius van Baerle.” The prisoner then, giving the Bible to Rosa, said,-- “Read.” “Alas!” she answered, “I have already told you I cannot read.” Cornelius then read to Rosa the testament that he had just made. The agony of the poor girl almost overpowered her. “Do you accept my conditions?” asked the prisoner, with a melancholy smile, kissing the trembling hands of the afflicted girl. “Oh, I don’t know, sir,” she stammered. “You don’t know, child, and why not?”