Cornelius, wiping away a tear which was glistening in his eye, and which was shed much more for that marvellous black tulip which he was not to see, than for the life which he was about to lose,—“I have no wish left, except that the tulip should be called ‘Rosa Barlæensis,’ that is to say, that its name should combine yours and mine; and as, of course, you do not understand Latin, and might therefore forget this name, try to get for me pencil and paper, that I may write it down for you.”
Rosa sobbed afresh, and handed to him a book, bound in shagreen, which bore the initials C. W.
“What is this?” asked the prisoner.
“Alas!” replied Rosa, “it is the Bible of your poor godfather Cornelius De Witte. From it he derived strength to endure the torture, and to hear his sentence without flinching. I found it in this cell, after the death of the martyr, and have preserved it as a relic. To-day I brought it to you, for it seemed to me that this book must possess in itself a power which is quite heavenly. Write in it what you have to write, Mynheer Cornelius; and though, unfortunately, I am not able to read, I will take care that what you write shall be accomplished.” Cornelius took the Bible, and kissed it reverently.
“With what shall I write?” asked Cornelius.
“There is a pencil in the Bible,” said Rosa.
This was the pencil which John De Witte had lent to his brother, and which he had forgotten to take away with him.
Cornelius took it, and, on the last fly-leaf (for it will be remembered that the first was torn out), drawing near his end like his godfather, he wrote, with a no less firm hand:—
"On this day, the 23rd of August, 1672, being on
