“More misery, Hester!—­Only the more misery!” answered the clergyman with a bitter smile.  “As concerns the good which I may appear to do, I have no faith in it.  It must needs be a delusion.  What can a ruined soul like mine effect towards the redemption of other souls?—­or a polluted soul towards their purification?  And as for the people’s reverence, would that it were turned to scorn and hatred!  Canst thou deem it, Hester, a consolation that I must stand up in my pulpit, and meet so many eyes turned upward to my face, as if the light of heaven were beaming from it!—­must see my flock hungry for the truth, and listening to my words as if a tongue of Pentecost were speaking!—­and then look inward, and discern the black reality of what they idolise?  I have laughed, in bitterness and agony of heart, at the contrast between what I seem and what I am!  And Satan laughs at it!”

“You wrong yourself in this,” said Hester gently.  “You have deeply and sorely repented.  Your sin is left behind you in the days long past.  Your present life is not less holy, in very truth, than it seems in people’s eyes.  Is there no reality in the penitence thus sealed and witnessed by good works?  And wherefore should it not bring you peace?”

“No, Hester—­no!” replied the clergyman.  “There is no substance in it!  It is cold and dead, and can do nothing for me!  Of penance, I have had enough!  Of penitence, there has been none!  Else, I should long ago have thrown off these garments of mock holiness, and have shown myself to mankind as they will see me at the judgment-seat.  Happy are you, Hester, that wear the scarlet letter openly upon your bosom!  Mine burns in secret!  Thou little knowest what a relief it is, after the torment of a seven years’ cheat, to look into an eye that recognises me for what I am!  Had I one friend—­or were it my worst enemy!—­to whom, when sickened with the praises of all other men, I could daily betake myself, and be known as the vilest of all sinners, methinks my soul might keep itself alive thereby.  Even thus much of truth would save me!  But now, it is all falsehood!—­all emptiness!—­all death!”

Hester Prynne looked into his face, but hesitated to speak.  Yet, uttering his long-restrained emotions so vehemently as he did, his words here offered her the very point of circumstances in which to interpose what she came to say.  She conquered her fears, and spoke: 

“Such a friend as thou hast even now wished for,” said she, “with whom to weep over thy sin, thou hast in me, the partner of it!” Again she hesitated, but brought out the words with an effort.—­“Thou hast long had such an enemy, and dwellest with him, under the same roof!”

The minister started to his feet, gasping for breath, and clutching at his heart, as if he would have torn it out of his bosom.

“Ha!  What sayest thou?” cried he.  “An enemy!  And under mine own roof!  What mean you?”