They were now entering the large chamber, which,
as I have said, communicated with Douw's apartment, when Rose suddenly
stopped, and, in a whisper which seemed to thrill with horror, she
said,--

"O God! he is here--he is here! See, see--there he goes!" She pointed towards the door of the inner room, and Schalken thought
he saw a shadowy and ill-defined form gliding into that apartment. He
drew his sword, and raising the candle so as to throw its light with
increased distinctness upon the objects in the room, he entered the
chamber into which the figure had glided. No figure was there--nothing
but the furniture which belonged to the room, and yet he could not be
deceived as to the fact that something had moved before them into the
chamber. A sickening dread came upon him, and the cold perspiration broke out in
heavy drops upon his forehead; nor was he more composed when he heard
the increased urgency, the agony of entreaty, with which Rose implored
them not to leave her for a moment. "I saw him," said she. "He's here! I cannot be deceived--I know him. He's by me--he's with me--he's in the room. Then, for God's sake, as you
would save, do not stir from beside me!" They at length prevailed upon her to lie down upon the bed, where she
continued to urge them to stay by her. She frequently uttered incoherent
sentences, repeating again and again, "The dead and the living cannot be
one--God has forbidden it!" and then again, "Rest to the wakeful--sleep
to the sleep-walkers." These and such mysterious and broken sentences she continued to utter
until the clergyman arrived. Gerard Douw began to fear, naturally enough, that the poor girl, owing
to terror or ill-treatment, had become deranged; and he half suspected,
by the suddenness of her appearance, and the unseasonableness of the
hour, and, above all, from the wildness and terror of her manner, that
she had made her escape from some place of confinement for lunatics, and
was in immediate fear of pursuit. He resolved to summon medical advice
as soon as the mind of his niece had been in some measure set at rest
by the offices of the clergyman whose attendance she had so earnestly
desired; and until this object had been attained, he did not venture to
put any questions to her, which might possibly, by reviving painful or
horrible recollections, increase her agitation. The clergyman soon arrived--a man of ascetic countenance and venerable
age--one whom Gerard Douw respected much, forasmuch as he was a veteran
polemic, though one, perhaps, more dreaded as a combatant than beloved
as a Christian--of pure morality, subtle brain, and frozen heart. He
entered the chamber which communicated with that in which Rose reclined,
and immediately on his arrival she requested him to pray for her, as for
one who lay in the hands of Satan, and who could hope for deliverance
only from Heaven. That our readers may distinctly understand all the circumstances of the
event which we are about imperfectly to describe, it is necessary to
state the relative positions of the parties who were engaged in it. The old clergyman and Schalken were in the ante-room of which we have
already spoken; Rose lay in the inner chamber, the door of which was
open; and by the side of the bed, at her urgent desire, stood her
guardian; a candle burned in the bedchamber, and three were lighted in
the outer apartment. The old man now cleared his voice, as if about to commence; but before
he had time to begin, a sudden gust of air blew out the candle which
served to illuminate the room in which the poor girl lay, and she with
hurried alarm, exclaimed:

"Godfrey, bring in another candle; the darkness is unsafe." Gerard Douw, forgetting for the moment her repeated injunctions in the
immediate impulse, stepped from the bedchamber into the other, in order
to supply what she desired. "O God! do not go, dear uncle!" shrieked the unhappy girl; and at the
same time she sprang from the bed and darted after him, in order, by her
grasp, to detain him. But the warning came too late, for scarcely had he passed the threshold,
and hardly had his niece had time to utter the startling exclamation,
when the door which divided the two rooms closed violently after him, as
if swung to by a strong blast of wind. Schalken and he both rushed to the door, but their united and desperate
efforts could not avail so much as to shake it. Shriek after shriek burst from the inner chamber, with all the piercing
loudness of despairing terror. Schalken and Douw applied every energy
and strained every nerve to force open the door; but all in vain. There was no sound of struggling from within, but the screams seemed to
increase in loudness, and at the same time they heard the bolts of the
latticed window withdrawn, and the window itself grated upon the sill
as if thrown open. One last shriek, so long and piercing and agonized as to be scarcely
human, swelled from the room, and suddenly there followed a death-like
silence. A light step was heard crossing the floor, as if from the bed to the
window; and almost at the same instant the door gave way, and yielding
to the pressure of the external applicants, they were nearly
precipitated into the room. It was empty. The window was open, and
Schalken sprang to a chair and gazed out upon the street and at the
canal below. He saw no form, but he beheld, or thought he beheld, the
waters of the broad canal beneath settling ring after ring in heavy
circular ripples, as if a moment before disturbed by the immersion of
some large and heavy mass. No trace of Rose was ever after discovered, nor was anything certain
respecting her mysterious wooer detected or even suspected; no clue
whereby to trace the intricacies of the labyrinth, and to arrive at a
distinct conclusion was to be found. But an incident occurred, which,
though it will not be received by our rational readers as at all
approaching to evidence upon the matter, nevertheless produced a strong
and a lasting impression upon the mind of Schalken. [Illustration: THE WATERS OF THE BROAD CANAL BENEATH SETTLING RING AFTER
RING IN HEAVY CIRCULAR RIPPLES.] Many years after the events which we have detailed, Schalken, then
remotely situated, received an intimation of his father's death, and
of his intended burial upon a fixed day in the church of Rotterdam. It
was necessary that a very considerable journey should be performed by
the funeral procession, which, as it will readily be believed, was not
very numerously attended. Schalken with difficulty arrived in Rotterdam
late in the day upon which the funeral was appointed to take place. The
procession had not then arrived. Evening closed in, and still it did not
appear. Schalken strolled down to the church--he found it open; notice of the
arrival of the funeral had been given, and the vault in which the body
was to be laid had been opened.