Rosa clasped her hands in despair.
“Ah!” Gryphus continued, passing from the madness of anger to the cool irony of a man who has got the better of his enemy, “Ah! you innocent tulip-fancier, you gentle scholar; you will kill me, and drink my blood! Very well! very well! And you have my daughter for an accomplice. Am I, forsooth, in a den of thieves—in a cave of brigands? Yes; but the Governor shall know all to-morrow, and His Highness the Stadtholder the day after. We know the law; we shall give a second edition of the Buitenhof, Master Scholar, and a good one this time. Yes, yes; just gnaw your paws like a bear in his cage, and you, my fine little lady, devour your dear Cornelius with your eyes. I tell you, my lambkins, you shall not much longer have the felicity of conspiring together. Away with you! unnatural daughter! And as to you, Master Scholar, we shall see each other again. Just be quiet—we shall.”
Rosa, beyond herself with terror and despair, kissed her hands to her friend; then, suddenly struck with a bright thought, she rushed towards the staircase, saying,—
“All is not yet lost, Cornelius. Rely on me, my Cornelius.”
Her father followed her, growling.
As to poor Cornelius, he gradually loosened his hold of the bars, which his fingers still grasped convulsively. His head was heavy, his eyes almost started from their sockets, and he fell heavily on the floor of his cell, muttering,—
“Stolen; it has been stolen from me!”
During this time Boxtel had left the fortress, by the door which Rosa herself had opened. He carried the black tulip wrapped up in a cloak, and, throwing himself
