true one, in exchange for the heavy doom which he was now expiating.  And be the stern and sad truth spoken, that the breach which guilt has once made into the human soul is never, in this mortal state, repaired.  It may be watched and guarded, so that the enemy shall not force his way again into the citadel, and might even in his subsequent assaults, select some other avenue, in preference to that where he had formerly succeeded.  But there is still the ruined wall, and near it the stealthy tread of the foe that would win over again his unforgotten triumph.

The struggle, if there were one, need not be described.  Let it suffice that the clergyman resolved to flee, and not alone.

“If in all these past seven years,” thought he, “I could recall one instant of peace or hope, I would yet endure, for the sake of that earnest of Heaven’s mercy.  But now—­since I am irrevocably doomed—­wherefore should I not snatch the solace allowed to the condemned culprit before his execution?  Or, if this be the path to a better life, as Hester would persuade me, I surely give up no fairer prospect by pursuing it!  Neither can I any longer live without her companionship; so powerful is she to sustain—­so tender to soothe!  O Thou to whom I dare not lift mine eyes, wilt Thou yet pardon me?”

“Thou wilt go!” said Hester calmly, as he met her glance.

The decision once made, a glow of strange enjoyment threw its flickering brightness over the trouble of his breast.  It was the exhilarating effect—­upon a prisoner just escaped from the dungeon of his own heart—­of breathing the wild, free atmosphere of an unredeemed, unchristianised, lawless region.  His spirit rose, as it were, with a bound, and attained a nearer prospect of the sky, than throughout all the misery which had kept him grovelling on the earth.  Of a deeply religious temperament, there was inevitably a tinge of the devotional in his mood.

“Do I feel joy again?” cried he, wondering at himself.  “Methought the germ of it was dead in me!  Oh, Hester, thou art my better angel!  I seem to have flung myself—­sick, sin-stained, and sorrow-blackened—­down upon these forest leaves, and to have risen up all made anew, and with new powers to glorify Him that hath been merciful!  This is already the better life!  Why did we not find it sooner?”

“Let us not look back,” answered Hester Prynne.  “The past is gone!  Wherefore should we linger upon it now?  See!  With this symbol I undo it all, and make it as if it had never been!”

So speaking, she undid the clasp that fastened the scarlet letter, and, taking it from her bosom, threw it to a distance among the withered leaves.  The mystic token alighted on the hither verge of the stream.  With a hand’s-breadth further flight, it would have fallen into the water, and have given the little brook another woe to carry onward, besides the unintelligible tale which it still kept murmuring about.  But there lay the embroidered letter, glittering like a lost jewel, which some ill-fated wanderer might pick up, and thenceforth be haunted by strange phantoms of guilt, sinkings of the heart, and unaccountable misfortune.