During the late hours of the afternoon, the Van der Werff house was crowded with people.  The gossips came to talk over with Barbara the events occurring at the White Gate.  Burgomaster Van Swieten’s wife had heard from her own husband, that the Englishmen, without making any resistance, had surrendered the beautiful new fort of Valkenburg and taken to their heels, at the mere sight of the Spaniards.  The enemy had marched out from Haarlem through the downs above Nordwyk, and it would have been an easy matter for the Britons to hold the strong position.

“Fine aid such helpers give!” cried Barbara indignantly.  “Let Queen Elizabeth keep the men on her island for herself, and send us the women.”

“Yet they are real sons of Anak, and bear themselves like trim soldiers,” said the wife of the magistrate Heemskerk.  “High boots, doublets of fine leather, gay plumes in their morions and hats, large coats of mail, halberds that would kill half a dozen—­and all like new.”

“They probably didn’t want to spoil them, and so found a place of safety as soon as possible, the windy cowards,” cried the wife of Church-warden de Haes, whose sharp tongue was well known.  “You seem to have looked at them very closely, Frau Margret.”

“From the wind-mill at the gate,” replied the other.  “The envoy stopped on the bridge directly under us.  A handsome man on a stately horse.  His trumpeter too was mounted, and the velvet cloth on his trumpet bristled with beautiful embroidery in gold thread and jewels.  They earnestly entreated admittance, but the gate remained closed.”

“Right, right!” cried Frau Heemskerk.  “I don’t like the Prince’s commissioner, Van Bronkhorst.  What does he care for us, if only the Queen doesn’t get angry and withdraw the subsidies?  I’ve heard he wants to accommodate Chester and grant him admission.”

“He would like to do so,” added Frau Van Hout.  “But your husband, Frau Maria, and mine—­I was talking with him on the way here—­will make every effort to prevent it.  The two Seigneurs of Nordwyk are of their opinion, so perhaps the commissioner will be out-voted.”

“May God grant it!” cried the resolute voice of Wilhelm’s mother.  “By to-morrow or the day after, not even a cat will be allowed to leave the gates, and my husband says we must begin to save provisions at once.”

“Five hundred more consumers in the city, to lessen our children’s morsels; that would be fine business!” cried Frau de Haes, throwing herself back in her chair so violently, that it creaked, and beating her knees with her hands.

“And they are Englishmen, Frau Margret, Englishmen,” said the Receiver-General’s wife.  “They don’t eat, they don’t consume, they devour.  We supply our troops; but Herr von Nordwyk—­I mean the younger one, who has been at the Queen’s court as the Prince’s ambassador, told my Wilhelm what a British glutton can gobble.  They’ll clear off your beef like cheese, and our beer is dish-water compared with their black malt brew.”