At the close of the services the people hurried outwith indecorous confusion， eager to communicate theirpent-up amazement， and conscious of lighter spirits themoment they lost sight of the black veil. Some gathered inlittle circles， huddled closely together， with their mouthsall whispering in the centre； some went homeward alone，wrapped in silent meditation； some talked loudly andprofaned the Sabbath-day with ostentatious laughter. Afew shook their sagacious heads， intimating that theycould penetrate the mystery， while one or two affirmedthat there was no mystery at all， but only that Mr.
Hooper’s eyes were so weakened by the midnight lamp asto require a shade.
After a brief interval forth came good Mr. Hooper also，in the rear of his flock. Turning his veiled face from onegroup to another， he paid due reverence to the hoaryheads， saluted the middle-aged with kind dignity astheir friend and spiritual guide， greeted the young withmingled authority and love， and laid his hands on thelittle children’s heads to bless them. Such was always hiscustom on the Sabbath-day. Strange and bewildered looksrepaid him for his courtesy. None， as on former occasions，aspired to the honor of walking by their pastor’s side.
Old Squire Saunders—doubtless by an accidental lapseof memory—neglected to invite Mr. Hooper to his table，where the good clergyman had been wont to bless the foodalmost every Sunday since his settlement. He returned，therefore， to the parsonage， and at the moment of closingthe door was observed to look back upon the people， all ofwhom had their eyes fixed upon the minister. A sad smilegleamed faintly from beneath the black veil and flickeredabout his mouth， glimmering as he disappeared.
“How strange，” said a lady， “that a simple black veil， suchas any woman might wear on her bonnet， should becomesuch a terrible thing on Mr. Hooper’s face！”
“Something must surely be amiss with Mr. Hooper’sintellects，” observed her husband， the physician of thevillage. “But the strangest part of the affair is the effect ofthis vagary even on a sober-minded man like myself. Theblack veil， though it covers only our pastor’s face， throwsits influence over his whole person and makes him ghostlikefrom head to foot. Do you not feel it so？”
“Truly do I，” replied the lady； “and I would not be alonewith him for the world. I wonder he is not afraid to bealone with himself.”
“Men sometimes are so，” said her husband.
The afternoon service was attended with similarcircumstances. At its conclusion the bell tolled forthe funeral of a young lady. The relatives and friendswere assembled in the house and the more distantacquaintances stood about the door， speaking of the goodqualities of the deceased， when their talk was interruptedby the appearance of Mr. Hooper， still covered withhis black veil. It was now an appropriate emblem. Theclergyman stepped into the room where the corpse waslaid， and bent over the coffin to take a last farewell of hisdeceased parishioner. As he stooped the veil hung straightdown from his forehead， so that， if her eye-lids had notbeen closed for ever， the dead maiden might have seen hisface. Could Mr. Hooper be fearful of her glance， that he sohastily caught back the black veil？ A person who watchedthe interview between the dead and living scrupled not toaffirm that at the instant when the clergyman’s featureswere disclosed the corpse had slightly shuddered， rustlingthe shroud and muslin cap， though the countenanceretained the composure of death. A superstitious oldwoman was the only witness of this prodigy.
From the coffin Mr. Hooper passed into the chamberof the mourners， and thence to the head of the staircase，to make the funeral prayer. It was a tender and heartdissolvingprayer， full of sorrow， yet so imbued with
celestial hopes that the music of a heavenly harp swept bythe fingers of the dead seemed faintly to be heard amongthe saddest accents of the minister. The people trembled，though they but darkly understood him， when he prayedthat they and himself， and all of mortal race， might beready， as he trusted this young maiden had been， forthe dreadful hour that should snatch the veil from theirfaces. The bearers went heavily forth and the mournersfollowed， saddening all the street， with the dead beforethem and Mr. Hooper in his black veil behind.
“Why do you look back？” said one in the procession tohis partner.
“I had a fancy，” replied she， “that the minister and themaiden’s spirit were walking hand in hand.”
“And so had I at the same moment，” said the other.
That night the handsomest couple in Milford villagewere to be joined in wedlock. Though reckoned amelancholy man， Mr. Hooper had a placid cheerfulnessfor such occasions which often excited a sympatheticsmile where livelier merriment would have been thrownaway. There was no quality of his disposition which madehim more beloved than this. The company at the weddingawaited his arrival with impatience， trusting that thestrange awe which had gathered over him throughout theday would now be dispelled. But such was not the result.
When Mr. Hooper came， the first thing that their eyesrested on was the same horrible black veil which hadadded deeper gloom to the funeral and could portendnothing but evil to the wedding. Such was its immediateeffect on the guests that a cloud seemed to have rolledduskily from beneath the black crape and dimmed thelight of the candles. The bridal pair stood up before theminister， but the bride’s cold fingers quivered in thetremulous hand of the bridegroom， and her death-likepaleness caused a whisper that the maiden who had beenburied a few hours before was come from her grave to bemarried. If ever another wedding were so dismal， it wasthat famous one where they tolled the wedding-knell.
