zed, and his bitterest enemies had
failed to discover one trace of frailty, one manifestation of any
vacillating, ignoble, or malignant sentiment.

The drums had been sounding through the quiet but anxiously expectant
town since four o'clock that morning, and the tramp of soldiers marching
to the Inner Court had long been audible in the prison chamber.

Walaeus now came back with a message from the judges. "The high
commissioners," he said, "think it is beginning. Will my Lord please to
prepare himself?"

"Very well, very well," said the prisoner. "Shall we go at once?"

But Walaeus suggested a prayer. Upon its conclusion, Barneveld gave his
hand to the provost-marshal and to the two soldiers, bidding them adieu,
and walked downstairs, attended by them, to the chamber of the judges. As
soon as he appeared at the door, he was informed that there had been a
misunderstanding, and he was requested to wait a little. He accordingly
went upstairs again with perfect calmness, sat down in his chamber again,
and read in his French Psalm Book. Half an hour later he was once more
summoned, the provost-marshal and Captain van der Meulen reappearing to
escort him. "Mr. Provost," said the prisoner, as they went down the
narrow staircase, "I have always been a good friend to you."--"It is
true," replied that officer, "and most deeply do I grieve to see you in
this affliction."

He was about to enter the judges' chamber as usual, but was informed that
the sentence would be read in the great hall of judicature. They
descended accordingly to the basement story, and passed down the narrow
flight of steps which then as now connected the more modern structure,
where the Advocate had been imprisoned and tried, with what remained of
the ancient palace of the Counts of Holland. In the centre of the vast
hall--once the banqueting chamber of those petty sovereigns; with its
high vaulted roof of cedar which had so often in ancient days rung with
the sounds of mirth and revelry--was a great table at which the
twenty-four judges and the three prosecuting officers were seated, in
their black caps and gowns of office. The room was lined with soldiers
and crowded with a dark, surging mass of spectators, who had been waiting
there all night.

A chair was placed for the prisoner. He sat down, and the clerk of the
commission, Pots by name, proceeded at once to read the sentence. A
summary of this long, rambling, and tiresome paper has been already l