The Governor-General, had, in truth, not inspired the popular party or its leader with confidence, nor did he place the least reliance upon them.  While at Louvain, he had complained that a conspiracy had been formed against his life and liberty.  Two French gentlemen, Bonnivet and Bellangreville, had been arrested on suspicion of a conspiracy to secure his person, and to carry him off a prisoner to Rochelle.  Nothing came of the examination which followed; the prisoners were released, and an apology was sent by the states-general to the Duke of Alencon, as well for the indignity which had been offered to two of his servants, as for the suspicion which had been cast upon himself, Don John, however, was not satisfied.  He persisted in asserting the existence of the conspiracy, and made no secret of his belief that the Prince of Orange was acquainted with the arrangement.  As may be supposed, nothing was discovered in the course of the investigation to implicate that astute politician.  The Prince had indeed secretly recommended that the Governor should be taken into custody on his first arrival, not for the purpose of assassination or personal injury, but in order to extort better terms from Philip, through the affection or respect which he might be supposed to entertain for his brother.  It will be remembered that unsuccessful attempts had also been made to capture the Duke of Alva and the Commander Requesens.  Such achievements comported with the spirit of the age, and although it is doubtful whether any well-concerted plot existed against the liberty of the Governor, it is certain that he entertained no doubt on the subject himself.  In addition to these real or suspected designs, there was an ever-present consciousness in the mind of Don John that the enthusiasm which greeted his presence was hollow, that no real attachment was felt for his person, that his fate was leading him into a false position, that the hearts of the people were fixed upon another, and that they were never to be won by himself.  Instinctively he seemed to feel a multitude of invisible threads twining into a snare around him, and the courageous heart and the bounding strength became uneasily conscious of the act in which they were to be held captive till life should be wasted quite away.

The universal affection for the rebel Prince, and the hopeless abandonment of the people to that deadliest of sins, the liberty of conscience, were alike unquestionable.  “They mean to remain free, sire,” wrote Escovedo to Philip, “and to live as they please.  To that end they would be willing that the Turk should come to be master of the country.  By the road which they are travelling, however, it will be the Prince of Orange—­which comes to quite the same thing.”  At the same time, however, it was hoped that something might be made of this liberty of conscience.  All were not equally sunk in the horrible superstition, and those who were yet faithful to Church and King might be set against their besotted