Such was the condition of affairs when the incident about to be related took place.
The room in which the Prince of Orange sat was scantily furnished. The silver plate which he possessed in such abundance had long ago been sold to pay his soldiers. Very little now remained to remind one of the magnificent style in which the Prince once lived. He had literally sacrificed all for his country.
"Please make several copies of this letter," he said to his secretary, Conrad Chenoweth, "they must be sent by morning. I think I will retire early to-night, as I am tired."
A stout Dutchman was stationed outside the door of the Prince's bedchamber, for there had already been several attempts upon the life of Orange.
After a short time the Prince reappeared in the doorway. "Chenoweth," he said, "I am unaccountably nervous to-night. Would you mind bringing your writing in here? I shall quickly fall asleep if my faithful friend is near."
Accordingly, Conrad complied with the Prince's request, and placing a dark screen before the light he began to write. The deep breathing of the Prince soon showed that he was asleep. After a time Conrad heard a strange sound. As the hour was now late, he paused a few moments to rest. As it was no unusual thing for couriers to arrive in the
