The painter said “he would fain have another day to consider.”
“Not an hour,” said the suitor, coolly.
“Well, then,” said Douw, “I am content; it is a bargain.”
“Then sign at once,” said Vanderhausen; “I am weary.”
At the same time he produced a small case of writing materials, and Gerard signed the important document.
“Let this youth witness the covenant,” said the old man; and Godfrey Schalken unconsciously signed the instrument which bestowed upon another that hand which he had so long regarded as the object and reward of all his labours.
The compact being thus completed, the strange visitor folded up the paper, and stowed it safely in an inner pocket.
“I will visit you to-morrow night, at nine of the clock, at your house, Gerard Douw, and will see the subject of our contract. Farewell.” And so saying, Wilken Vanderhausen moved stiffly, but rapidly out of the room.
Schalken, eager to resolve his doubts, had placed himself by the window in order to watch the street entrance; but the experiment served only to support his suspicions, for the old man did not issue from the door. This was very strange, very odd, very fearful. He and his master returned together, and talked but little on the way, for each had his own subjects of reflection, of anxiety, and of hope.
Schalken, however, did not know the ruin which threatened his cherished schemes.