the supper, for which preparations were
going forward; and ranged with exact
regularity, stood the tall-backed chairs,
whose ungracefulness was more than
counterbalanced by their comfort.

The little party, consisting of Rose, her
uncle, and the artist, awaited the arrival of
the expected visitor with considerable impatience.

Nine o'clock at length came, and with it
a summons at the street-door, which, being
speedily answered, was followed by a slow
and emphatic tread upon the staircase; the
steps moved heavily across the lobby, the
door of the room in which the party which
we have described were assembled slowly
opened, and there entered a figure which
startled, almost appalled, the phlegmatic
Dutchmen, and nearly made Rose scream
with affright; it was the form, and arrayed
in the garb, of Mynher Vanderhausen;
the air, the gait, the height was the same,
but the features had never been seen by
any of the party before.

The stranger stopped at the door of the
room, and displayed his form and face
completely. He wore a dark-coloured
cloth cloak, which was short and full, not