“Go and fetch vinegar, miss,” said Cornelius; “we will bathe his temples, and he will recover.”
But, instead of acting up to the doctor’s prescription, Rosa, after having assured herself that her father was still unconscious, approached Cornelius and said,—
“Service for service, sir.”
“What do you mean, my dear?” said Cornelius.
“I mean to say, sir, that the judge who is to examine you to-morrow has inquired to-day for the room in which you are confined, and, on being told that you were occupying the cell of Mynheer Cornelius De Witte, laughed in a very strange and disagreeable manner, which makes me fear that no good awaits you.”
“But,” asked Cornelius, “what harm can they do to me?”
“Look at that gibbet!”
“But I am not guilty,” said Cornelius.
“Were they guilty whom you see down there? gibbeted, mangled, and torn to pieces?”
“That’s true,” said Cornelius, gravely.
“And besides,” continued Rosa, “the people want to find you guilty. But whether innocent or guilty, your trial begins to-morrow, and the day after you will be condemned. Matters are settled very quickly in these times.”
“Well, and what do you conclude from all this?”
“I conclude that I am alone, that I am weak, that my father is lying in a swoon, that the dog is muzzled, and that consequently there is nothing to prevent your making your escape. Fly, then, that’s what I mean.”
“What do you say?”
“I say that I was not able to save Mynheer Cornelius, or Mynheer John De Witte, and that I should like to save you. Only be quick; there, my father is regaining
