Hessels, the old Blood Councillor, was then resident in Ghent; where he discharged high governmental functions.  It was he, as it will be remembered, who habitually fell asleep at that horrible council board, and could only start from his naps to-shout “ad patibulum,” while the other murderers had found their work less narcotic.  A letter from Hessels to Count de Reux, late royal governor of Flanders, was at the present juncture intercepted.  Perhaps it was invented, but genuine or fictitious, it was circulated extensively among the popular leaders, and had the effect of proving Madame de Hessels a true prophet.  It precipitated the revolution in Flanders, and soon afterwards cost the Councillor his life.  “We have already brought many notable magistrates of Flanders over to the aide of his Highness Don John,” wrote Hessels.  “We hope, after the Duke of Aerschot is governor; that we shall fully carry out the intentions of his Majesty and the plans of his Highness.  We shall also know how to circumvent the scandalous heretic with all his adherents and followers.”

Certainly, if this letter were true, it was high time for the friends of the “scandalous heretic” to look about them.  If it were a forgery, which is highly probable, it was ingeniously imagined, and did the work of truth.  The revolutionary party, being in a small minority in the assembly, were advised by their leaders to bow before the storm.  They did so, and the bluster of the reactionary party grew louder as they marked the apparent discomfiture of their foes.  They openly asserted that the men who were clamoring for privileges should obtain nothing but halters.  The buried charters should never be resuscitated; but the spirit of the dead Emperor, who had once put a rope around the necks of the insolent Ghenters, still lived in that of his son.  There was no lack of denunciation.  Don John and the Duke of Aerschot would soon bring the turbulent burghers to their senses, and there would then be an end to this renewed clamor about musty parchments.  Much indignation was secretly excited in the assembly by such menaces.  Without doors the subterranean flames spread rapidly, but no tumult occurred that night.  Before the session was over, Ryhove left the city, pretending a visit to Tournay.  No sooner had he left the gates, however, than he turned his horse’s head in the opposite direction, and rode off post haste to Antwerp.  There he had a conference with William of Orange, and painted in lively colors the alarming position of affairs.  “And what do you mean to do in the matter?” asked the Prince, rather drily.  Ryhove was somewhat disconcerted.  He had expected a violent explosion; well as he knew the tranquil personage whom he was addressing.  “I know no better counsel,” he replied, at length, “than to take the Duke, with his bishops, councillors, lords, and the whole nest of them, by the throat, and thrust them all out together.”

“Rather a desperate undertaking, however?” said the Prince; carelessly, but interrogatively.