"Iwonderifmotherwillaskmewhatitmeans？"thoughtPearl。
　　Justthen，sheheardhermother’svoice，andflittingalongaslightlyasoneofthelittlesea—birds，appearedbeforeHesterPrynne，dancing，laughing，andpointingherfingertotheornamentuponherbosom。
　　"MylittlePearl，"saidHester，afteramoment’ssilence，"thegreenletter，andonthychildishbosom，hasnopurport。Butdostthouknow，mychild，whatthislettermeanswhichthymotherisdoomedtowear？"
　　"Yes，mother，"saidthechild。"ItisthegreatletterA。Thouhasttaughtmeinthehorn—book。"
　　Hesterlookedsteadilyintoherlittleface；but，thoughtherewasthatsingularexpressionwhichshehadsooftenremarkedinherblackeyes，shecouldnotsatisfyherselfwhetherPearlreallyattachedanymeaningtothesymbol。Shefeltamorbiddesiretoascertainthepoint。
　　"Dostthouknow，child，whereforethymotherwearsthisletter？"
　　"TrulydoI！"answeredPearl，lookingbrightlyintohermother’sface。"Itisforthesamereasonthattheministerkeepshishandoverhisheart！"
　　"Andwhatreasonisthat？"askedHester，halfsmilingattheabsurdincongruityofthechild’sobservation；but，onsecondthoughts，turningpale。"Whathasthelettertodowithanyheart，savemine？"
　　"Nay，mother，IhavetoldallIknow，"saidPearl，moreseriouslythanshewaswonttospeak。"Askyonderoldmanwhomthouhastbeentalkingwith！Itmaybehecantell。Butingoodearnestnow，motherdear，whatdoesthisscarletlettermean？—andwhydostthouwearitonthybosom？—andwhydoestheministerkeephishandoverhisheart？"
　　Shetookhermother’shandinbothherown，andgazedintohereyeswithanearnestnessthatwasseldomseeninherwildandcapriciouscharacter。ThethoughtoccurredtoHester，thatthechildmightreallybeseekingtoapproachherwithchildlikeconfidence，anddoingwhatshecould，andasintelligentlyassheknewhow，toestablishameeting—pointofsympathy。ItshowedPearlinanunwontedaspect。Heretofore，themother，whilelovingherchildwiththeintensityofasoulaffection，hadschooledherselftohopeforlittleotherreturnthanthewaywardnessofanAprilbreeze；whichspendsitstimeinairysport，andhasitsgustsofinexplicablepassion，andispetulantinitsbestofmoods，andchillsoftenerthancaressesyou，whenyoutakeittoyourbosom；inrequitalofwhichmisdemeanours，itwillsometimes，ofitsownvaguepurpose，kissyourcheekwithakindofdoubtfultenderness，andplaygentlywithyourhair，andthenbegoneaboutitsotheridlebusiness，leavingadreamypleasureatyourheart。Andthis，moreover，wasamother’sestimateofthechild’sdisposition。Anyotherobservermighthaveseenfewbutunamiabletraits，andhavegiventhemafardarkercolouring。ButnowtheideacamestronglyintoHester’smind，thatPearl，withherremarkableprecocityandacuteness，mightalreadyhaveapproachedtheagewhenshecouldbemadeafriend，andentrustedwithasmuchofhermother’ssorrowsascouldbeimparted，withoutirreverenceeithertotheparentorthechild。InthelittlechaosofPearl’scharacter，theremightbeseenemerging—andcouldhavebeen，fromtheveryfirst—thesteadfastprinciplesofanunflinchingcourage—anuncontrollablewill—asturdypride，whichmightbedisciplinedintoself—respect—andabitterscornofmanythings，which，whenexamined，mightbefoundtohavethetaintoffalsehoodinthem。Shepossessedaffections，too，thoughhithertoacridanddisagreeable，asaretherichestflavoursofunripefruit。
　　Withallthesesterlingattributes，thoughtHester，theevilwhichsheinheritedfromhermothermustbegreatindeed，ifanoblewomandonotgrowoutofthiselfishchild。
　　Pearl’sinevitabletendencytohoverabouttheenigmaofthescarletletterseemedaninnatequalityofherbeing。Fromtheearliestepochofherconsciouslife，shehadentereduponthisasherappointedmission。HesterhadoftenfanciedthatProvidencehadadesignofjusticeandretribution，inendowingthechildwiththismarkedpropensity；butnever，untilnow，hadshebethoughtherselftoask，whether，linkedwiththatdesign，theremightnotlikewisebeapurposeofmercyandbeneficence。IflittlePearlwereentertainedwithfaithandtrust，asaspiritmessengernolessthananearthlychild，mightitnotbehererrandtosootheawaythesorrowthatlaycoldinhermother’sheart，andconverteditintoatomb？—
　　andtohelphertoovercomethepassion，oncesowild，andevenyetneitherdeadnorasleep，butonlyimprisonedwithinthesametomb—likeheart？
　　SuchweresomeofthethoughtsthatnowstirredinHester’smind，withasmuchvivacityofimpressionasiftheyhadactuallybeenwhisperedintoherear。AndtherewaslittlePearl，allthiswhile，holdinghermother’shandinbothherown，andturningherfaceupward，whilesheputthesesearchingquestions，once，andagain，andstillathirdtime。
　　"Whatdoesthelettermean，mother？—andwhydostthouwearit？—andwhydoestheministerkeephishandoverhisheart？"
　　"WhatshallIsay？"thoughtHestertoherself。"No！Ifthisbethepriceofthechild’ssympathy，Icannotpayit。"
　　Thenshespokealoud。
　　"SillyPearl，"saidshe，"whatquestionsarethese？Therearemanythingsinthisworldthatachildmustnotaskabout。WhatknowIoftheminister’sheart？Andasforthescarletletter，Iwearitforthesakeofitsgoldthread。"
　　Inallthesevenbygoneyears，HesterPrynnehadneverbeforebeenfalsetothesymbolonherbosom。Itmaybethatitwasthetalismanofasternandsevere，butyetaguardianspirit，whonowforsookher；
　　asrecognisingthat，inspiteofhisstrictwatchoverherheart，somenewevilhadcreptintoit，orsomeoldonehadneverbeenexpelled。
　　AsforlittlePearl，theearnestnesssoonpassedoutofherface。
　　Butthechilddidnotseefittoletthematterdrop。Twoorthreetimes，ashermotherandshewenthomeward，andasoftenatsuppertime，andwhileHesterwasputtinghertobed，andonceaftersheseemedtobefairlyasleep，Pearllookedup，withmischiefgleaminginherblackeyes。
　　"Mother，"saidshe，"whatdoesthescarletlettermean？"
　　Andthenextmorning，thefirstindicationthechildgaveofbeingawakewasbypoppingupherheadfromthepillow，andmakingthatotherinquiry，whichshehadsounaccountablyconnectedwithherinvestigationsaboutthescarletletter—
　　"Mother！—mother！—whydoestheministerkeephishandoverhisheart？"
　　"Holdthytongue，naughtychild！"answeredhermother，withanasperitythatshehadneverpermittedtoherselfbefore。"Donotteaseme；elseIshallshuttheeintothedarkcloset！"
　　XVI。
　　AFORESTWALK。
　　HESTERPRYNNEremainedconstantinherresolvetomakeknowntoMr。Dimmesdale，atwhateverriskofpresentpainorulteriorconsequences，thetruecharacterofthemanwhohadcreptintohisintimacy。Forseveraldays，however，shevainlysoughtanopportunityofaddressinghiminsomeofthemeditativewalkswhichsheknewhimtobeinthehabitoftaking，alongtheshoresofthepeninsula，oronthewoodedhillsoftheneighbouringcountry。Therewouldhavebeennoscandal，indeed，norperiltotheholywhitenessoftheclergyman’sgoodfame，hadshevisitedhiminhisownstudy；wheremanyapenitent，erenow，hadconfessedsinsofperhapsasdeepadyeastheonebetokenedbythescarletletter。But，partlythatshedreadedthesecretorundisguisedinterferenceofoldRogerChillingworth，andpartlythatherconsciousheartimputedsuspicionwherenonecouldhavebeenfelt，andpartlythatboththeministerandshewouldneedthewholewideworldtobreathein，whiletheytalkedtogether—forallthesereasons，Hesterneverthoughofmeetinghiminanynarrowerprivacythanbeneaththeopensky。
　　Atlast，whileattendinginasick—chamber，whithertheReverendMr。
　　Dimmesdalehadbeensummonedtomakeaprayer，shelearntthathehadgone，thedaybefore，tovisittheApostleEliot，amonghisIndianconverts。Hewouldprobablyreturn，byacertainhour，intheafternoonofthemorrow。Betimes，therefore，thenextday，HestertooklittlePearl—whowasnecessarilythecompanionofallhermother’sexpeditions，howeverinconvenientherpresence—andsetforth。
　　Theroad，afterthetwowayfarershadcrossedfromthepeninsulatothemainland，wasnootherthanafootpath。Itstraggledonwardintothemysteryoftheprimevalforest。Thishemmeditinsonarrowly，andstoodsoblackanddenseoneitherside，anddisclosedsuchimperfectglimpsesoftheskyabove，that，toHester’smind，itimagednotamissthemoralwildernessinwhichshehadsolongbeenwandering。Thedaywaschillandsombre。Overheadwasagreyexpanseofcloud，slightlystirred，however，byabreeze；sothatagleamofflickeringsunshinemightnowandthenbeseenatitssolitaryplayalongthepath。Thisflittingcheerfulnesswasalwaysatthefartherextremityofsomelongvistathroughtheforest。Thesportivesunlight—feeblysportive，atbest，inthepredominantpensivenessofthedayandscene—withdrewitselfastheycamenigh，andleftthespotswhereithaddancedthedrearier，becausetheyhadhopedtofindthembright。
　　"Mother，"saidlittlePearl，"thesunshinedoesnotloveyou。Itrunsawayandhidesitself，becauseitisafraidofsomethingonyourbosom。Now，see！Thereitis，playing，agoodwayoff。Standyouhere，andletmerunandcatchit。Iambutachild。Itwillnotfleefromme；forIwearnothingonmybosomyet！"
　　"Noreverwill，mychild，Ihope，"saidHester。
　　"Andwhynot，mother？"askedPearl，stoppingshortjustatthebeginningofherrace。"Willnotitcomeofitsownaccord，whenI
　　amawomangrown？"
　　"Runaway，child，"answeredhermother，"andcatchthesunshine！
　　Itwillsoonbegone。"
　　Pearlsetforth，atagreatpace，and，asHestersmiledtoperceive，didactuallycatchthesunshine，andstoodlaughinginthemidstofit，allbrightenedbyitssplendour，andscintillatingwiththevivacityexcitedbyrapidmotion。Thelightlingeredaboutthelonelychild，asifgladofsuchaplaymate，untilhermotherhaddrawnalmostnighenoughtostepintothemagiccircletoo。
　　"Itwillgonow，"saidPearl，shakingherhead。
　　"See！"answeredHester，smiling。"NowIcanstretchoutmyhand，andgraspsomeofit。"
　　Assheattemptedtodoso，thesunshinevanished；or，tojudgefromthebrightexpressionthatwasdancingonPearl’sfeatures，hermothercouldhavefanciedthatthechildhadabsorbeditintoherself，andwouldgiveitforthagain，withagleamaboutherpath，astheyshouldplungeintosomegloomiershade。TherewasnootherattributethatsomuchimpressedherwithasenseofnewanduntransmittedvigourinPearl’snature，asthisnever—failingvivacityofspirits；
　　shehadnotthediseaseofsadness，whichalmostallchildren，intheselatterdays，inherit，withthescrofula，fromthetroublesoftheirancestors。Perhapsthistoowasadisease，andbutthereflexofthewildenergywithwhichHesterhadfoughtagainsthersorrows，beforePearl’sbirth。Itwascertainlyadoubtfulcharm，impartingahard，metalliclustretothechild’scharacter。Shewanted—whatsomepeoplewantthroughoutlife—agriefthatshoulddeeplytouchher，andthushumaniseandmakehercapableofsympathy。ButtherewastimeenoughyetforlittlePearl。
　　"Come，mychild！"saidHester，lookingaboutherfromthespotwherePearlhadstoodstillinthesunshine。"Wewillsitdownalittlewaywithinthewood，andrestourselves。"
　　"Iamnotaweary，mother，"repliedthelittlegirl。"Butyoumaysitdown，ifyouwilltellmeastorymeanwhile。"
　　"Astory，child！"saidHester。"Andaboutwhat？"
　　"Oh，astoryabouttheBlackMan，"answeredPearl，takingholdofhermother’sgown，andlookingup，halfearnestly，halfmischievously，intoherface。"Howhehauntsthisforest，andcarriesabookwithhim—abig，heavybook，withironclasps；andhowthisuglyBlackManoffershisbookandanironpentoeverybodythatmeetshimhereamongthetrees；andtheyaretowritetheirnameswiththeirownblood。Andthenhesetshismarkontheirbosoms！DidstthouevermeettheBlackMan，mother？"
　　"Andwhotoldyouthisstory，Pearl？"askedhermother，recognisingacommonsuperstitionoftheperiod。
　　"Itwastheolddameinthechimney—corner，atthehousewhereyouwatchedlastnight，"saidthechild。"Butshefanciedmeasleepwhileshewastalkingofit。Shesaidthatathousandandathousandpeoplehadmethimhere，andhadwritteninhisbook，andhavehismarkonthem。Andthatugly—temperedlady，oldMistressHibbins，wasone。And，mother，theolddamesaidthatthisscarletletterwastheBlackMan’smarkonthee，andthatitglowslikearedflamewhenthoumeetesthimatmidnight，hereinthedarkwood。Isittrue，mother？
　　Anddostthougotomeethiminthenight—time？"
　　"Didstthoueverawake，andfindthymothergone？"askedHester。
　　"NotthatIremember，"saidthechild。"Ifthoufearesttoleavemeinourcottage，thoumightesttakemealongwiththee。Iwouldverygladlygo！But，mother，tellmenow！IstheresuchaBlackMan？Anddidstthouevermeethim？Andisthishismark？"
　　"WiltthouletmebeatpeaceifIoncetellthee？"askedhermother。
　　"Yes，ifthoutellestmeall，"answeredPearl。
　　"OnceinmylifeImettheBlackMan！"saidhermother。"Thisscarletletterishismark！"
　　Thusconversing，theyenteredsufficientlydeepintothewoodtosecurethemselvesfromtheobservationofanycasualpassengeralongtheforesttrack。Heretheysatdownonaluxuriantheapofmoss；
　　which，atsomeepochoftheprecedingcentury，hadbeenagiganticpine，withitsrootsandtrunkinthedarksomeshade，anditsheadaloftintheupperatmosphere。Itwasalittledellwheretheyhadseatedthemselves，withaleaf—strewnbankrisinggentlyoneitherside，andabrookflowingthroughthemidst，overabedoffallenanddrownedleaves。Thetreesimpendingoverithadflungdowngreatbranches，fromtimetotime，whichchokedupthecurrent，andcompelledittoformeddiesandblackdepthsatsomepoints；while，initsswifterandlivelierpassages，thereappearedachannel—wayofpebbles，andbrown，sparklingsand。Lettingtheeyesfollowalongthecourseofthestream，theycouldcatchthereflectedlightfromitswater，atsomeshortdistancewithintheforest，butsoonlostalltracesofitamidthebewildermentoftree—trunksandunderbrush，andhereandthereahugerockcoveredoverwithgreylichens。Allthesegianttreesandbouldersofgraniteseemedintentonmakingamysteryofthecourseofthissmallbrook；fearing，perhaps，that，withitsnever—ceasingloquacity，itshouldwhispertalesoutoftheheartoftheoldforestwhenceitflowed，ormirroritsrevelationsonthesmoothsurfaceofapool。Continually，indeed，asitstoleonward，thestreamletkeptupababble，kind，quiet，soothing，butmelancholy，likethevoiceofayoungchildthatwasspendingitsinfancywithoutplayfulness，andknewnothowtobemerryamongsadacquaintanceandeventsofsombrehue。
　　"Obrook！Ofoolishandtiresomelittlebrook！"criedPearl，afterlisteningawhiletoitstalk。"Whyartthousosad？Pluckupaspirit，anddonotbeallthetimesighingandmurmuring！"
　　Butthebrook，inthecourseofitslittlelifetimeamongtheforest—trees，hadgonethroughsosolemnanexperiencethatitcouldnothelptalkingaboutit，andseemedtohavenothingelsetosay。
　　Pearlresembledthebrookinasmuchasthecurrentofherlifegushedfromawell—springasmysterious，andhadflowedthroughscenesshadowedasheavilywithgloom。But，unlikethelittlestream，shedancedandsparkled，andprattledairilyalonghercourse。
　　"Whatdoesthissadlittlebrooksay，mother？"inquiredshe。
　　"Ifthouhadstasorrowofthineown，thebrookmighttelltheeofit，"answeredhermother，"evenasitistellingmeofmine！Butnow，Pearl，Ihearafootstepalongthepath，andthenoiseofoneputtingasidethebranches。Iwouldhavetheebetakethyselftoplay，andleavemetospeakwithhimthatcomesyonder。"
　　"IsittheBlackMan？"askedPearl。
　　"Wiltthougoandplay，child？"repeatedhermother。"Butdonotstrayfarintothewood。Andtakeheedthatthoucomeatmyfirstcall。"
　　"Yes，mother，"answeredPearl。"ButifitbetheBlackMan，wiltthounotletmestayamoment，andlookathim，withhisbigbookunderhisarm？"
　　"Go，sillychild！"saidhermotherimpatiently。"ItisnoBlackMan！
　　Thoucanstseehimnow，throughthetrees。Itistheminister！"
　　"Andsoitis！"saidthechild。"And，mother，hehashishandoverhisheart！Isitbecause，whentheministerwrotehisnameinthebook，theBlackMansethismarkinthatplace？Butwhydoeshenotwearitoutsidehisbosom，asthoudost，mother？"
　　"Gonow，child，andthoushaltteasemeasthouwiltanothertime，"criedHesterPrynne。"Butdonotstrayfar。Keepwherethoucansthearthebabbleofthebrook。"
　　Thechildwentsingingaway，followingupthecurrentofthebrook，andstrivingtomingleamorelightsomecadencewithitsmelancholyvoice。Butthelittlestreamwouldnotbecomforted，andstillkepttellingitsunintelligiblesecretofsomeverymournfulmysterythathadhappened—ormakingapropheticlamentationaboutsomethingthatwasyettohappen—withinthevergeofthedismalforest。SoPearl，whohadenoughofshadowinherownlittlelife，chosetobreakoffallacquaintancewiththisrepiningbrook。Shesetherself，therefore，togatheringvioletsandwood—anemones，andsomescarletcolumbinesthatshefoundgrowinginthecrevicesofahighrock。
　　Whenherelf—childhaddeparted，HesterPrynnemadeasteportwotowardsthetrackthatledthroughtheforest，butstillremainedunderthedeepshadowofthetrees。Shebeheldtheministeradvancingalongthepath，entirelyalone，andleaningonastaffwhichhehadcutbythewayside。Helookedhaggardandfeeble，andbetrayedanervelessdespondencyinhisair，whichhadneversoremarkablycharacterisedhiminhiswalksaboutthesettlement，norinanyothersituationwherehedeemedhimselfliabletonotice。Hereitwaswoefullyvisible，inthisintenseseclusionoftheforest，whichofitselfwouldhavebeenaheavytrialtothespirits。Therewasalistlessnessinhisgait；asifhesawnoreasonfortakingonestepfarther，norfeltanydesiretodoso，butwouldhavebeenglad，couldhebegladofanything，toflinghimselfdownattherootofthenearesttree，andlietherepassive，forevermore。Theleavesmightbestrewhim，andthesoilgraduallyaccumulateandformalittlehillockoverhisframe，nomatterwhethertherewerelifeinitorno。Deathwastoodefiniteanobjecttobewishedfor，oravoided。
　　ToHester’seye，theReverendMr。Dimmesdaleexhibitednosymptomofpositiveandvivacioussuffering，exceptthat，aslittlePearlhadremarked，hekepthishandoverhisheart。
　　XVII。
　　THEPASTORANDHISPARISHIONER。
　　SLOWLYastheministerwalked，hehadalmostgoneby，beforeHesterPrynnecouldgathervoiceenoughtoattracthisobservation。Atlength，shesucceeded。
　　"ArthurDimmesdale！"shesaid，faintlyatfirst；thenlouder，buthoarsely："ArthurDimmesdale！"
　　"Whospeaks？"answeredtheminister。
　　Gatheringhimselfquicklyup，hestoodmoreerect，likeamantakenbysurpriseinamoodtowhichhewasreluctanttohavewitnesses。Throwinghiseyesanxiouslyinthedirectionofthevoice，heindistinctlybeheldaformunderthetrees，cladingarmentsso，sombre，andsolittlerelievedfromthegreytwilightintowhichthecloudedskyandtheheavyfoliagehaddarkenedthenoontide，thatheknewnotwhetheritwereawomanorashadow。Itmaybe，thathispathwaythroughlifewashauntedthus，byaspectrethathadstolenoutfromamonghisthoughts。
　　Hemadeastepnigher，anddiscoveredthescarletletter。
　　"Hester！HesterPrynne！"saidhe。"Isitthou？Artthouinlife？"
　　"Evenso！"sheanswered。"Insuchlifeashasbeenminethesesevenyearspast！Andthou，ArthurDimmesdale，dostthouyetlive？"
　　Itwasnowonderthattheythusquestionedoneanother’sactualandbodilyexistence，andevendoubtedoftheirown。Sostrangelydidtheymeet，inthedimwood，thatitwaslikethefirstencounter，intheworldbeyondthegrave，oftwospiritswhohadbeenintimatelyconnectedintheirformerlife，butnowstoodcoldlyshuddering，inmutualdread；asnotyetfamiliarwiththeirstate，norwontedtothecompanionshipofdisembodiedbeings。Eachaghost，andawe—strickenattheotherghost！Theywereawe—strickenlikewiseatthemselves；becausethecrisisflungbacktothemtheirconsciousness，andrevealedtoeachheartitshistoryandexperience，aslifeneverdoes，exceptatsuchbreathlessepochs。Thesoulbehelditsfeaturesinthemirrorofthepassingmoment。Itwaswithfear，andtremulously，and，asitwere，byaslow，reluctantnecessity，thatArthurDimmesdaleputforthhishand，chillasdeath，andtouchedthechillhandofHesterPrynne。Thegrasp，coldasitwas，tookawaywhatwasdreariestintheinterview。Theynowfeltthemselves，atleast，inhabitantsofthesamesphere。
　　Withoutawordmorespoken—neitherhenorsheassumingtheguidance，butwithanunexpressedconsent—theyglidedbackintotheshadowofthewoods，whenceHesterhademerged，andsatdownontheheapofmosswheresheandPearlhadbeforebeensitting。Whentheyfoundvoicetospeak，itwas，atfirst，onlytoutterremarksandinquiriessuchasanytwoacquaintancesmighthavemade，aboutthegloomysky，thethreateningstorm，and，next，thehealthofeach。Thustheywentonward，notboldly，butstepbystep，intothethemesthatwerebroodingdeepestintheirhearts。Solongestrangedbyfateandcircumstances，theyneededsomethingslightandcasualtorunbefore，andthrowopenthedoorsofintercourse，sothattheirrealthoughtsmightbeledacrossthethreshold。
　　Afterawhile，theministerfixedhiseyesonHesterPrynne’s。
　　"Hester，"saidhe，"hastthoufoundpeace？"
　　Shesmileddrearily，lookingdownuponherbosom。
　　"Hastthou？"sheasked。
　　"None！—nothingbutdespair！"heanswered。"WhatelsecouldIlookfor，beingwhatIam，andleadingsuchalifeasmine？WereIanatheist—amandevoidofconscience—awretchwithcoarseandbrutalinstincts—Imighthavefoundpeace，longerenow。Nay，Inevershouldhavelostit！But，asmattersstandwithmysoul，whateverofgoodcapacitythereoriginallywasinme，allofGod’sgiftsthatwerethechoicesthavebecometheministersofspiritualtorment。Hester，I
　　ammostmiserable。"
　　"Thepeoplereverencethee，"saidHester。"Andsurelythouworkestgoodamongthem！Doththisbringtheenocomfort？"
　　"Moremisery，Hester！—onlythemoremisery！"answeredtheclergyman，withabittersmile。"AsconcernsthegoodwhichImayappeartodo，Ihavenofaithinit。Itmustneedsbeadelusion。Whatcanaruinedsoul，likemine，effecttowardstheredemptionofothersouls？—orapollutedsoul，towardstheirpurification？Andasforthepeople’sreverence，wouldthatitwereturnedtoscornandhatred！
　　Canstthoudeemit，Hester，aconsolation，thatImuststandupinmypulpit，andmeetsomanyeyesturnedupwardtomyface，asifthelightofheavenwerebeamingfromit！—mustseemyflockhungryforthetruth，andlisteningtomywordsasifatongueofPentecostwerespeaking！—andthenlookinward，anddiscerntheblackrealityofwhattheyidolise？Ihavelaughed，inbitternessandagonyofheart，atthecontrastbetweenwhatIseemandwhatIam！AndSatanlaughsatit！"
　　"Youwrongyourselfinthis，"saidHestergently。"Youhavedeeplyandsorelyrepented。Yoursinisleftbehindyou，inthedayslongpast。Yourpresentlifeisnotlessholy，inverytruth，thanitseemsinpeople’seyes。Istherenorealityinthepenitencethussealedandwitnessedbygoodworks？Andwhereforeshoulditnotbringyoupeace？"
　　"No，Hester，no！"repliedtheclergyman。"Thereisnosubstanceinit！Itiscoldanddead，andcandonothingforme！Ofpenance，Ihavehadenough！Ofpenitence，therehasbeennone！Else，Ishouldlongagohavethrownoffthesegarmentsofmockholiness，andhaveshownmyselftomankindastheywillseemeatthejudgment—seat。Happyareyou，Hester，thatwearthescarletletteropenlyuponyourbosom！Mineburnsinsecret！Thoulittleknowestwhatareliefitis，afterthetormentofasevenyears’cheat，tolookintoaneyethatrecognisesmeforwhatIam！HadIonefriend—orwereitmyworstenemy！—towhom，whensickenedwiththepraisesofallothermen，Icoulddailybetakemyself，andbeknownasthevilestofallsinners，methinksmysoulmightkeepitselfalivethereby。Eventhusmuchoftruthwouldsaveme！But，now，itisallfalsehood！—allemptiness！—alldeath！"
　　HesterPrynnelookedintohisface，buthesitatedtospeak。Yet，utteringhislong—restrainedemotionssovehementlyashedid，hiswordshereofferedhertheverypointofcircumstancesinwhichtointerposewhatshecametosay。Sheconqueredherfears，andspoke。
　　"Suchafriendasthouhastevennowwishedfor，"saidshe，"withwhomtoweepoverthysin，thouhasinme，thepartnerofit！"Againshehesitated，butbroughtoutthewordswithaneffort，"Thouhastlonghadsuchanenemy，anddwellestwithhim，underthesameroof！"
　　Theministerstartedtohisfeet，gaspingforbreath，andclutchingathisheart，asifhewouldhavetornitoutofhisbosom。
　　"Ha！Whatsayestthou！"criedhe。"Anenemy！Andundermineownroof！Whatmeanyou？"