“Truly, friend; and methinks it must gladden your heart, after your troubles and sojourn in the wilderness,” said the townsman, “to find yourself at length in a land where iniquity is searched out and punished in the sight of rulers and people, as here in our godly New England.  Yonder woman, Sir, you must know, was the wife of a certain learned man, English by birth, but who had long ago dwelt in Amsterdam, whence some good time agone he was minded to cross over and cast in his lot with us of the Massachusetts.  To this purpose he sent his wife before him, remaining himself to look after some necessary affairs.  Marry, good Sir, in some two years, or less, that the woman has been a dweller here in Boston, no tidings have come of this learned gentleman, Master Prynne; and his young wife, look you, being left to her own misguidance—­”

“Ah!—­aha!—­I conceive you,” said the stranger with a bitter smile.  “So learned a man as you speak of should have learned this too in his books.  And who, by your favour, Sir, may be the father of yonder babe—­it is some three or four months old, I should judge—­which Mistress Prynne is holding in her arms?”

“Of a truth, friend, that matter remaineth a riddle; and the Daniel who shall expound it is yet a-wanting,” answered the townsman.  “Madame Hester absolutely refuseth to speak, and the magistrates have laid their heads together in vain.  Peradventure the guilty one stands looking on at this sad spectacle, unknown of man, and forgetting that God sees him.”

“The learned man,” observed the stranger with another smile, “should come himself to look into the mystery.”

“It behoves him well if he be still in life,” responded the townsman.  “Now, good Sir, our Massachusetts magistracy, bethinking themselves that this woman is youthful and fair, and doubtless was strongly tempted to her fall, and that, moreover, as is most likely, her husband may be at the bottom of the sea, they have not been bold to put in force the extremity of our righteous law against her.  The penalty thereof is death.  But in their great mercy and tenderness of heart they have doomed Mistress Prynne to stand only a space of three hours on the platform of the pillory, and then and thereafter, for the remainder of her natural life to wear a mark of shame upon her bosom.”

“A wise sentence,” remarked the stranger, gravely, bowing his head.  “Thus she will be a living sermon against sin, until the ignominious letter be engraved upon her tombstone.  It irks me, nevertheless, that the partner of her iniquity should not at least, stand on the scaffold by her side.  But he will be known—­he will be known!—­he will be known!”

He bowed courteously to the communicative townsman, and whispering a few words to his Indian attendant, they both made their way through the crowd.