Nicolas hesitated a moment, then said quickly:  “Yes, take me to her.”

When the youth had reached the north end of the city with Herr von Warmond, who had undertaken to accompany him, he asked the latter: 

“Are you Junker Van Duivenvoorde, Herr von Warmond?”

“I am.”

“And you captured Brill, with the Beggars, from the Spaniards?”

“I had that good fortune.”

“And yet, you are of a good old family.  And were there not other noblemen with the Beggars also?”

“Certainly.  Do you suppose it ill-beseems us, to have a heart for our ancestors’ home?  My forefathers, as well as yours, were noble before a Spaniard ever entered the land.”

But King Philip rules us as the lawful sovereign.”

“Unhappily.  And therefore we obey his Stadtholder, the Prince, who reigns in his name.  The perjured hangman needs a guardian.  Ask on; I’ll answer willingly.”

Nicolas did not heed the request, but walked silently beside his companion until they reached the Achtergracht.  There he stood still, seized the captain’s arm in great excitement, and said hastily in low, broken sentences: 

“It weighs on my heart.  I must tell some one.  I want to be Dutch.  I hate the Castilians.  I have learned to know them in Leyderdorp and at the Hague.  They don’t heed me, because I am young, and they are not aware that I understand their language.  So my eyes were opened.  When they speak of us, it is with contempt and scorn.  I know all that has been done by Alva and Vargas.  I have heard from the Spaniards’ own lips, that they would like to root us out, exterminate us.  If I could only do as I pleased, and were it not for my father, I know what I would do.  My head is so confused.  The burgomaster’s speech is driving me out of my wits.  Tell him, junket, I beseech you, tell him I hate the Spaniards and it would be my pride to be a Netherlander.”

Both had continued their walk, and as they approached the burgomaster’s house, the captain, who had listened to the youth with joyful surprise, said: 

“You’re cut from good timber, Junker, and on the way to the right goal.  Only keep Herr Peter’s speech in your mind, and remember what you have learned in history.  To whom belong the shining purple pages in the great book of national history?  To the tyrants, their slaves and eye-servants, or the men who lived and died for liberty?  Hold up your head.  This conflict will perhaps outlast both our lives, and you still have a long time to put yourself on the right side.  The nobleman must serve his Prince, but he need be no slave of a ruler, least of all a foreigner, an enemy of his nation.  Here we are; I’ll come for you again in an hour.  Give me your hand.  I should like to call you by your Christian name in future, my brave Nico.”

“Call me so,” exclaimed the youth, “and—­you’ll send no one else?  I should like to talk with you again.”