And still the minister’s fame and reputation for holiness increased, even while he was tortured by bodily disease and the black trouble of his soul.

More than once Mr. Dimmesdale had gone into the pulpit, with a purpose never to come down until he should have spoken the truth of his life.  And ever he put a cheat upon himself by confessing in general terms his exceeding vileness and sinfulness.  One night in early May, driven by remorse, and still indulging in the mockery of repentance, the minister sought the scaffold, where Hester Prynne had stood.  The town was all asleep.  There was no peril of discovery.  And yet his vigil was surprised by Hester and her daughter, returning from a death-bed in the town, and presently by Roger Chillingworth himself.

“Who is that man?” gasped Mr. Dimmesdale, in terror.  “I shiver at him, Hester.  Canst thou do nothing for me?  I have a nameless horror of the man!”

Hester remembered her promise and was silent.

“Worthy sir,” said the physician, when he had advanced to the foot of the platform, “pious Master Dimmesdale!  Can this be you?  Come, good sir, I pray you, let me lead you home!  You should study less, or these night-whimseys will grow upon you.”

“I will go home with you,” said Mr. Dimmesdale.

And now Hester Prynne resolved to do what might be in her power for the victim whom she saw in her former husband’s grip.  An opportunity soon occurred when she met the old physician stooping in quest of roots to concoct his medicines.

“When we last spake together,” said Hester, “you bound me to secrecy touching our former relations.  But now I must reveal the secret.  He must discern thee in thy true character.  What may be the result I know not.  So far as concerns the overthrow or preservation of his fair fame and his earthly state, and perchance his life, he is in thy hands.  Nor do I—­whom the scarlet letter has disciplined to truth—­nor do I perceive such advantage in his living any longer a life of ghastly emptiness, that I shall stoop to implore thy mercy.  Do with him as thou wilt!  There is no good for him, no good for me, no good for thee!  There is no good for little Pearl!”

“Woman, I could well-nigh pity thee!” said Roger Chillingworth.  “Peradventure, hadst thou met earlier with a better love than mine, this evil had not been.  I pity thee, for the good that has been wasted in thy nature!”

“And I thee,” answered Hester Prynne, “for the hatred that has transformed a wise and just man to a fiend!  Forgive, if not for his sake, then doubly for thine own!”

“Peace, Hester, peace!” replied the old man with gloom.  “It is not granted me to pardon.  It is our fate.  Now go thy ways, and deal as thou wilt with yonder man.”

IV.—­Revelation

A week later Hester Prynne waited in the forest for the minister as he returned from a visit to his Indian converts.  He walked slowly, and, as he walked, kept his hand over his heart.