It was the observation of those who beheld him now, that never, since Mr. Dimmesdale first set his foot on the New England shore, had he exhibited such energy as was seen in the gait and air with which he kept his pace in the procession.  There was no feebleness of step as at other times; his frame was not bent, nor did his hand rest ominously upon his heart.  Yet, if the clergyman were rightly viewed, his strength seemed not of the body.  It might be spiritual and imparted to him by angelical ministrations.  It might be the exhilaration of that potent cordial which is distilled only in the furnace-glow of earnest and long-continued thought.  Or perchance his sensitive temperament was invigorated by the loud and piercing music that swelled heaven-ward, and uplifted him on its ascending wave.  Nevertheless, so abstracted was his look, it might be questioned whether Mr. Dimmesdale even heard the music.  There was his body, moving onward, and with an unaccustomed force.  But where was his mind?  Far and deep in its own region, busying itself, with preternatural activity, to marshal a procession of stately thoughts that were soon to issue thence; and so he saw nothing, heard nothing, knew nothing of what was around him; but the spiritual element took up the feeble frame and carried it along, unconscious of the burden, and converting it to spirit like itself.  Men of uncommon intellect, who have grown morbid, possess this occasional power of mighty effort, into which they throw the life of many days and then are lifeless for as many more.

Hester Prynne, gazing steadfastly at the clergyman, felt a dreary influence come over her, but wherefore or whence she knew not, unless that he seemed so remote from her own sphere, and utterly beyond her reach.  One glance of recognition she had imagined must needs pass between them.  She thought of the dim forest, with its little dell of solitude, and love, and anguish, and the mossy tree-trunk, where, sitting hand-in-hand, they had mingled their sad and passionate talk with the melancholy murmur of the brook.  How deeply had they known each other then!  And was this the man?  She hardly knew him now!  He, moving proudly past, enveloped as it were, in the rich music, with the procession of majestic and venerable fathers; he, so unattainable in his worldly position, and still more so in that far vista of his unsympathizing thoughts, through which she now beheld him!  Her spirit sank with the idea that all must have been a delusion, and that, vividly as she had dreamed it, there could be no real bond betwixt the clergyman and herself.  And thus much of woman was there in Hester, that she could scarcely forgive him—­least of all now, when the heavy footstep of their approaching Fate might be heard, nearer, nearer, nearer!—­for being able so completely to withdraw himself from their mutual world—­while she groped darkly, and stretched forth her cold hands, and found him not.

Pearl either saw and responded to her mother’s feelings, or herself felt the remoteness and intangibility that had fallen around the minister.  While the procession passed, the child was uneasy, fluttering up and down, like a bird on the point of taking flight.  When the whole had gone by, she looked up into Hester’s face—­