"The roar
of a battery of cannon would be inaudible to the Veiled Lady. And
yet, were I to will it, sitting in this very hall, she could hear the
desert wind sweeping over the sands as far off as Arabia; the
icebergs grinding one against the other in the polar seas; the rustle
of a leaf in an East Indian forest; the lowest whispered breath of
the bashfullest maiden in the world, uttering the first confession of
her love. Nor does there exist the moral inducement, apart from my
own behest, that could persuade her to lift the silvery veil, or
arise out of that chair."
Greatly to the Professor's discomposure, however, just as he spoke
these words, the Veiled Lady arose. There was a mysterious tremor
that shook the magic veil. The spectators, it may be, imagined that
she was about to take flight into that invisible sphere, and to the
society of those purely spiritual beings with whom they reckoned her
so near akin. Hollingsworth, a moment ago, had mounted the platform,
and now stood gazing at the figure, with a sad intentness that
brought the whole power of his great, stern, yet tender soul into his
glance.
"Come," said he, waving his hand towards her. "You are safe!"
She threw off the veil, and stood before that multitude of people
pale, tremulous, shrinking, as if only then had she discovered that a
thousand eyes were gazing at her. Poor maiden! How strangely had
she been betrayed! Blazoned abroad as a wonder of the world, and
performing what were adjudged as miracles,--in the faith of many, a
seeress and a prophetess; in the harsher judgment of others, a
mountebank,--she had kept, as I religiously believe, her virgin
reserve and sanctity of soul throughout it all.
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