g lines, daubed by the coarse brush of a sign-painter:--

"Here are hanging the great rogue of the name of John de Witt, and the
little rogue Cornelius de Witt, his brother, two enemies of the people,
but great friends of the king of France."

Cornelius uttered a cry of horror, and in the agony of his frantic
terror knocked with his hands and feet at the door so violently and
continuously, that Gryphus, with his huge bunch of keys in his hand, ran
furiously up.

The jailer opened the door, with terrible imprecations against the
prisoner who disturbed him at an hour which Master Gryphus was not
accustomed to be aroused.

"Well, now, by my soul, he is mad, this new De Witt," he cried, "but all
those De Witts have the devil in them."

"Master, master," cried Cornelius, seizing the jailer by the arm and
dragging him towards the window,--"master, what have I read down there?"

"Where down there?"

"On that placard."

And, trembling, pale, and gasping for breath, he pointed to the gibbet
at the other side of the yard, with the cynical inscription surmounting
it.

Gryphus broke out into a laugh.

"Eh! eh!" he answered, "so, you have read it. Well, my good sir, that's
what people will get for corresponding with the enemies of his Highness
the Prince of Orange."

"The brothers De Witt are murdered!" Cornelius muttered, with the cold
sweat on his brow, and sank on his bed, his arms hanging by his side,
and his eyes closed.

"The brothers De Witt have been judged by the people," said Gryphus;
"you call that murdered, do you? well, I call it executed."

And seeing that the prisoner was not only quiet, but entirely prostrate
and senseless, he rushed from the cell, violently slamming the door, and
noisily drawing the bolts.

Recovering his consciousness, Cornelius found himself alone, and
recognised the room where he was,--"the family cell," as Gryphus had
called it,--as the fatal passage leading to ignominious death.

And as he was a philosopher, and, more than that, as he was a Christian,
he began to pray for the soul of his godfather, then for that of the
Grand Pensionary, and at last submitted with resignation to all the
sufferings which God might ordain for him.

Then turning again to the concerns of earth, and having satisfied
himself that he was alone in his dungeon, he drew from his breast the
three bulbs of the black tulip, and concealed them behind a block of
stone, on which the traditional water-jug of