“But am I to leave your Highness here, alone, in the presence of all these murderers?”
“Go, and don’t you trouble yourself about me more than I do myself,” the Prince gruffly replied.
The officer started off with a speed which was much less owing to his sense of military obedience than to his pleasure at being relieved from the necessity of witnessing the shocking spectacle of the murder of the other brother.
He had scarcely left the room, when John—who, with an almost superhuman effort, had reached the stone steps of a house nearly opposite that where his former pupil concealed himself—began to stagger under the blows which were inflicted on him from all sides, calling out,—
“My brother! where is my brother?”
One of the ruffians knocked off his hat with a blow of his clenched fist.
Another showed to him his bloody hands; for this fellow had ripped open Cornelius and disembowelled him, and was now hastening to the spot in order not to lose the opportunity of serving the Grand Pensionary in the same manner, whilst they were dragging the dead body of Cornelius to the gibbet.
John uttered a cry of agony and grief, and put one of his hands before his eyes.
“Oh, you close your eyes, do you?” said one of the soldiers of the burgher-guard; “well, I shall open them for you.”
And saying this he stabbed him with his pike in the face, and the blood spurted forth.
“My brother!” cried John de Witte, trying to see through the stream of blood which blinded him, what had become of Cornelius; “my brother, my brother!”
“Go and run after him!” bellowed another mur-
