ast, will destroy you. Would that I might be deceived, but I foresee
too clearly that you are to be the bridge which the Spaniards will
destroy so soon as they have passed over it to invade our country." With
these last, solemn words he concluded his appeal to awaken the Count from
his fatal security. Then, as if persuaded that he was looking upon his
friend for the last time, William of Orange threw his arms around Egmont,
and held him for a moment in a close embrace. Tears fell from the eyes of
both at this parting moment--and then the brief scene of simple and lofty
pathos terminated--Egmont and Orange separated from each other, never to
meet again on earth.

A few days afterwards, Orange addressed a letter to Philip once more
resigning all his offices, and announcing his intention of departing from
the Netherlands for Germany. He added, that he should be always ready to
place himself and his property at the King's orders in every thing which
he believed conducive to the true service of his Majesty. The Prince had
already received a remarkable warning from old Landgrave Philip of Hesse,
who had not forgotten the insidious manner in which his own memorable
captivity had been brought about by the arts of Granvelle and of Alva.
"Let them not smear your mouths with honey," said the Landgrave. "If the
three seigniors, of whom the Duchess Margaret has had so much to say, are
invited to court by Alva, under pretext of friendly consultation, let
them be wary, and think twice ere they accept. I know the Duke of Alva
and the Spaniards, and how they dealt with me."

The Prince, before he departed, took a final leave of Horn and Egmont, by
letters, which, as if aware of the monumental character they were to
assume for posterity, he drew up in Latin. He desired, now that he was
turning his back upon the country, that those two nobles who had refused
to imitate, and had advised against his course, should remember that, he
was acting deliberately, conscientiously, and in pursuance of a
long-settled plan.

To Count Horn he declared himself unable to connive longer at the sins
daily committed against the country and his own conscience. He assured
him that the government had been accustoming the country to panniers, in
order that it might now accept patiently the saddle and bridle. For
himself, he said, his back was not strong enough for the weight already
imposed upon it, and he preferred to endure any calamity which might
happen t