'"What born fools we've been," said Black Andy, laying down a card.
'"Yes," replied the Flying Dutchman, "porn fools!" And he followed suit.
'But a thin white hand came down on the bits of colored pasteboard. It was our Lady. With her hair disordered, and the spots of fever in her cheeks, she stood among us again: but not as of old. Angry eyes confronted her, and Andy wrenched the cards from her grasp. "No, my Lady," he said, sternly; "never again!"
'The Lady, gazed from one face to the next, and so all around the circle; all were dark and sullen. Then she bowed her head upon her hands and wept aloud.
'There was a sudden shrinking away on all sides, the players rose, the cards were dropped. But the Lady glided away, weeping as she went; she entered the church door and the men could see her taking her accustomed place on the platform. One by one they followed; Black Andy lingered till the last, but he came. The service began, and went on falteringly, without spirit, with palpable fears of a total breaking down which never quite came; the Nightingale sang almost alone, and made sad work with the words; Salem joined in confidently, but did not improve the sense of the hymn. The Lady was silent. But when the time for the sermon came she rose and her voice burst forth.
'"Men, brothers, what have I done? A change has come over the town, a change has come over your hearts. You shun me! What have I done?"
'There was a grim silence; then the Doctor rose in his place and answered,--
'"Only this, madam. You have shown yourself to be a woman."
'"God forbid!" said the Lady, earnestly. "I never thought myself one."
'"I know that well. But you were a saint to us; hence your influence. It is gone."
'"Is it all gone?" asked the Lady, sadly.
'"Yes. Do not deceive yourself; we have never been one whit better save through our love for you. We held you as something high above ourselves; we were content to worship you."
'"O no, not me!" said the Lady, shuddering.
'"Yes, you, you alone! But--our idol came down among us and showed herself to be but common flesh and blood! What wonder that we stand aghast? What wonder that our hearts are bitter? What wonder (worse than all!) that when the awe has quite vanished, there is strife for the beautiful image fallen from its niche?"