the meeting-house and set all the congregation astir. Few could
refrain from twisting their heads toward the door; many stood upright
and turned directly about; while several little boys clambered upon
the seats, and came down again with a terrible racket. There was a
general bustle, a rustling of the women's gowns and shuffling of the
men's feet, greatly at variance with that hushed repose which should
attend the entrance of the minister. But Mr. Hooper appeared not to
notice the perturbation of his people. He entered with an almost
noiseless step, bent his head mildly to the pews on each side and
bowed as he passed his oldest parishioner, a white-haired
great-grandsire, who occupied an arm-chair in the centre of the aisle.
It was strange to observe how slowly this venerable man became
conscious of something singular in the appearance of his pastor. He
seemed not fully to partake of the prevailing wonder till Mr. Hooper
had ascended the stairs and showed himself in the pulpit, face to face
with his congregation except for the black veil. That mysterious
emblem was never once withdrawn. It shook with his measured breath as
he gave out the psalm, it threw its obscurity between him and the holy
page as he read the Scriptures, and while he prayed the veil lay
heavily on his uplifted countenance. Did he seek to hide it from the
dread Being whom he was addressing?

Such was the effect of this simple piece of crape that more than one
woman of delicate nerves was forced to leave the meeting-house. Yet
perhaps the pale-faced congregation was almost as fearful a sight to
the minister as his black veil to them.

Mr. Hooper had the reputation of a good preacher, but not an energetic
one: he strove to win his people heavenward by mild, persuasive
influences rather than to drive them thither by the thunders of the