"What grievous affliction hath befallen you," she earnestly inquired,
"that you should thus darken your eyes for ever?"

"If it be a sign of mourning," replied Mr. Hooper, "I, perhaps, like
most other mortals, have sorrows dark enough to be typified by a black
veil."

"But what if the world will not believe that it is the type of an
innocent sorrow?" urged Elizabeth. "Beloved and respected as you are,
there may be whispers that you hide your face under the consciousness
of secret sin. For the sake of your holy office do away this scandal."

The color rose into her cheeks as she intimated the nature of the
rumors that were already abroad in the village. But Mr. Hooper's
mildness did not forsake him. He even smiled again--that same sad
smile which always appeared like a faint glimmering of light
proceeding from the obscurity beneath the veil.

"If I hide my face for sorrow, there is cause enough," he merely
replied; "and if I cover it for secret sin, what mortal might not do
the same?" And with this gentle but unconquerable obstinacy did he
resist all her entreaties.

At length Elizabeth sat silent. For a few moments she appeared lost in
thought, considering, probably, what new methods might be tried to
withdraw her lover from so dark a fantasy, which, if it had no other
meaning, was perhaps a symptom of mental disease. Though of a firmer
character than his own, the tears rolled down her cheeks. But in an
instant, as it were, a new feeling took the place of sorrow: her eyes
were fixed insensibly on the black veil, when like a sudden twilight