do not belong to me, they have been deposited with me as a trust, and a trust is sacred.”
“Doctor Cornelius,” said the judge, “in the name of the States I order you to open this drawer, and to give up to me the papers which it contains.”
Saying this, the judge pointed with his finger to the third drawer of the press, near the fire-place.
In this very drawer, indeed, the papers deposited by the Warden of the Dykes with his godson were lying; a proof that the police had received very exact information.
“Ah! you will not,” said Van Spennen, when he saw Cornelius standing immovable and bewildered; “then I shall open the drawer myself.”
And, pulling out the drawer to its full length, the magistrate at first alighted on about twenty bulbs, carefully arranged and ticketed, and then on the paper parcel, which had remained in exactly the same state as it was when delivered by the unfortunate Cornelius De Witte to his godson.
The magistrate broke the seals, tore off the envelope, cast an eager glance on the first leaves which met his eye, and then exclaimed with a terrible voice,—
“Well, justice has been rightly informed after all!”
“How,” said Cornelius, “how is this?”
“Don’t pretend to be ignorant, Mynheer Van Baerle,” answered the magistrate, “follow me.”
“How’s that, follow you?” cried the Doctor.
“Yes, sir, for in the name of the States I arrest you.”
Arrests were not as yet made in the name of William of Orange, he had not been Stadtholder long enough for that.
“Arrest me?” cried Cornelius, “but what have I done?”
