But Theodore, whose natural tendency was towards
scepticism, felt himself almost injured and insulted by the Veiled
Lady's proposal that he should pledge himself, for life and eternity,
to so questionable a creature as herself; or even that she should
suggest an inconsequential kiss, taking into view the probability
that her face was none of the most bewitching. A delightful idea,
truly, that he should salute the lips of a dead girl, or the jaws of
a skeleton, or the grinning cavity of a monster's mouth! Even should
she prove a comely maiden enough in other respects, the odds were ten
to one that her teeth were defective; a terrible drawback on the
delectableness of a kiss.
"Excuse me, fair lady," said Theodore, and I think he nearly burst
into a laugh, "if I prefer to lift the veil first; and for this
affair of the kiss, we may decide upon it afterwards."
"Thou hast made thy choice," said the sweet, sad voice behind the
veil; and there seemed a tender but unresentful sense of wrong done
to womanhood by the young man's contemptuous interpretation of her
offer. "I must not counsel thee to pause, although thy fate is still
in thine own hand!"
Grasping at the veil, he flung it upward, and caught a glimpse of a
pale, lovely face beneath; just one momentary glimpse, and then the
apparition vanished, and the silvery veil fluttered slowly down and
lay upon the floor. Theodore was alone. Our legend leaves him there.
His retribution was, to pine forever and ever for another sight of
that dim, mournful face,--which might have been his life-long
household fireside joy,--to desire, and waste life in a feverish
quest, and never meet it more.
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