But month after month had passed by while they were waiting in vain for comfort.

At last the "best"-- that is to say, the unhappy Leicestrians--came to Willoughby, asking his advice in their "declining and desperate cause." "Well nigh a month longer," said that general, "I nourished them with compliments, and assured them that my Lord of Leicester would take care of them." The diet was not fattening.

So they began to grumble more loudly than ever, and complained with great bitterness of the miserable condition in which they had been left by the Earl, and expressed their fears lest the Queen likewise meant to abandon them.

They protested that their poverty, their powerful foes, and their slow friends, would compel them either to make their peace with the States' party, or "compound with the enemy." It would have seemed that real patriots, under such circumstances, would hardly hesitate in their choice, and would sooner accept the dominion of "Beelzebub," or even Paul Buys, than that of Philip II.

But the Leicestrians of Utrecht and Friesland--patriots as they were--hated Holland worse than they hated the Inquisition.