“They shall live!” shouted hundreds of powerful voices, five, ten, twenty times.  The gunner discharged the cannon planted near the target, drums beat, one flourish of trumpets after another filled the air, the ringing of bells from all the towers of the city echoed over the heads of the enthusiastic crowd, and the cheering continued until the commissioner waved his hand and the swearing fealty began.

The guilds and the armed defenders of the city pressed forward in bands under the linden.  Now impetuously, now with dignified calmness, now with devout exaltation, hands were raised to take the oath, and whoever clasped hands did so with fervent warmth.  Two hours elapsed before all had sworn loyalty, and many a group that had passed under the linden together, warmly grasped each other’s hands on the grounds in pledge of a second silent vow.

Nicolas Van Wibisma sat silently, with his letter in his lap, beside a target opposite the spot where the oath was taken, but sorrowful, bitter emotions were seething in his breast.  How gladly he would have wept aloud and torn his father’s letter!  How gladly, when he saw the venerable Herr Van Montfort come hand in hand with the grey-haired Van der Does to be sworn, he would have rushed to their side to take the oath, and call to the earnest man beneath the linden: 

“I am no degenerate wretch, who betrays his parents’ house; I desire to be no slave, no Spaniard; I am a Netherlander, like yourself.”

But he did not go, did not speak, he remained sitting motionless till the ceremony was over and Junker von Warmond conducted him under the linden.  Van Hout and both the Van der Does had joined the magistrates who had administered the oath.  Bowing silently, Nicolas delivered his father’s letter to the burgomaster.

Van der Werff broke the seal, and after reading it, handed it to the other gentlemen, then turning to Nicolas, said: 

“Wait here, Junker.  Your father counsels us to yield the city to the Spaniards, and promises a pardon from the King.  You cannot doubt the answer, after what you have heard in this place.”

“There is but one,” cried Van Hout, in the midst of reading the letter.  “Tear the thing up and make no reply.”

“Ride home, in God’s name,” added Janus Dousa.  “But wait, I’ll give you something more for Valdez.”

“Then you will vouchsafe no reply to my father’s letter?” asked Nicolas.

“No, Junker.  We wish to hold no intercourse with Baron Matanesse,” replied the commissioner.  “As for you, you can return home or wait here; just as you choose.”

“Go to your cousin, Junker,” said Janus Dousa kindly; “it will probably be an hour before I can find paper, pen and sealing wax.  Fraulein Van Hoogstraten will be glad to hear, through you, from her father.”

“If agreeable to you, young sir,” added the burgomaster; “my house stands open to you.”