In this manner Mr. Hooper spent a long life， irreproachablein outward act， yet shrouded in dismal suspicions； kindand loving， though unloved and dimly feared； a manapart from men， shunned in their health and joy， but eversummoned to their aid in mortal anguish. As years woreon， shedding their snows above his sable veil， he acquireda name throughout the New England churches， and theycalled him Father Hooper. Nearly all his parishioners whowere of mature age when he was settled had been borneaway by many a funeral： he had one congregation in thechurch and a more crowded one in the churchyard； and，having wrought so late into the evening and done his workso well， it was now good Father Hooper’s turn to rest.
Several persons were visible by the shaded candlelightin the death-chamber of the old clergyman. Naturalconnections he had none. But there was the decorouslygrave though unmoved physician， seeking only to mitigatethe last pangs of the patient whom he could not save.
There were the deacons and other eminently piousmembers of his church. There， also， was the ReverendMr. Clark of Westbury， a young and zealous divine whohad ridden in haste to pray by the bedside of the expiringminister. There was the nurse—no hired handmaidenof Death， but one whose calm affection had enduredthus long in secrecy， in solitude， amid the chill of age，and would not perish even at the dying-hour. Who butElizabeth！ And there lay the hoary head of good FatherHooper upon the death-pillow with the black veil stillswathed about his brow and reaching down over his face，so that each more difficult gasp of his faint breath causedit to stir. All through life that piece of crape had hungbetween him and the world； it had separated him fromcheerful brotherhood and woman’s love and kept him inthat saddest of all prisons his own heart； and still it layupon his face， as if to deepen the gloom of his darksomechamber and shade him from the sunshine of eternity.
For some time previous his mind had been confused，wavering doubtfully between the past and the present，and hovering forward， as it were， at intervals， into theindistinctness of the world to come. There had beenfeverish turns which tossed him from side to side andwore away what little strength he had. But in his mostconvulsive struggles and in the wildest vagaries of hisintellect， when no other thought retained its soberinfluence， he still showed an awful solicitude lest the blackveil should slip aside. Even if his bewildered soul couldhave forgotten， there was a faithful woman at his pillowwho with averted eyes would have covered that aged facewhich she had last beheld in the comeliness of manhood.
At length the death-stricken old man lay quietly inthe torpor of mental and bodily exhaustion， with animperceptible pulse and breath that grew fainter andfainter except when a long， deep and irregular inspirationseemed to prelude the flight of his spirit.
The minister of Westbury approached the bedside.
“Venerable Father Hooper，” said he， “the moment ofyour release is at hand. Are you ready for the lifting of theveil that shuts in time from eternity？”
Father Hooper at first replied merely by a feeble motionof his head； then—apprehensive， perhaps， that his meaningmight be doubtful—he exerted himself to speak.
“Yea，” said he， in faint accents； “my soul hath a patientweariness until that veil be lifted.”
“And is it fitting，” resumed the Reverend Mr. Clark， “thata man so given to prayer， of such a blameless example，holy in deed and thought， so far as mortal judgment maypronounce， is it fitting that a father in the Church shouldleave a shadow on his memory that may seem to blacken alife so pure？ I pray you， my venerable brother， let not thisthing be！ Suffer us to be gladdened by your triumphantaspect as you go to your reward. Before the veil of eternitybe lifted let me cast aside this black veil from your face；”
and， thus speaking， the Reverend Mr. Clark bent forwardto reveal the mystery of so many years.
But， exerting a sudden energy that made all the beholdersstand aghast， Father Hooper snatched both his hands frombeneath the bedclothes and pressed them strongly on theblack veil， resolute to struggle if the minister of Westburywould contend with a dying man.
“Never！” cried the veiled clergyman. “On earth， never！”
“Dark old man，” exclaimed the affrighted minister， “withwhat horrible crime upon your soul are you now passing tothe judgment？”
Father Hooper’s breath heaved： it rattled in his throat；but， with a mighty effort grasping forward with his hands，he caught hold of life and held it back till he should speak.
He even raised himself in bed， and there he sat shiveringwith the arms of Death around him， while the black veilhung down， awful at that last moment in the gatheredterrors of a lifetime. And yet the faint， sad smile so oftenthere now seemed to glimmer from its obscurity andlinger on Father Hooper’s lips.
“Why do you tremble at me alone？” cried he， turning hisveiled face round the circle of pale spectators. “Tremblealso at each other. Have men avoided me and womenshown no pity and children screamed and fled only formy black veil？ What but the mystery which it obscurelytypifies has made this piece of crape so awful？ When thefriend shows his inmost heart to his friend， the lover to hisbest-beloved； when man does not vainly shrink from theeye of his Creator， loathsomely treasuring up the secret ofhis sin， then deem me a monster for the symbol beneathwhich I have lived and die. I look around me， and， lo！ onevery visage a black veil！”
While his auditors shrank from one another in mutualaffright， Father Hooper fell back upon his pillow， a veiledcorpse with a faint smile lingering on the lips. Still veiled，they laid him in his coffin， and a veiled corpse they borehim to the grave. The grass of many years has sprungup and withered on that grave， the burial-stone is mossgrown，and good Mr. Hooper’s face is dust； but awful isstill the thought that it mouldered beneath the black veil.
