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Therefore
,
first
allowing
her
to
pass
,
they
pursued
her
at
a
distance
with
shrill
cries
,
and
the
utterances
of
a
word
that
had
no
distinct
purport
to
their
own
minds
,
but
was
none
the
less
terrible
to
her
,
as
proceeding
from
lips
that
babbled
it
unconsciously
.
It
seemed
to
argue
so
wide
a
diffusion
of
her
shame
,
that
all
nature
knew
of
it
;
it
could
have
caused
her
no
deeper
pang
had
the
leaves
of
the
trees
whispered
the
dark
story
among
themselves
--
had
the
summer
breeze
murmured
about
it
--
had
the
wintry
blast
shrieked
it
aloud
!
Another
peculiar
torture
was
felt
in
the
gaze
of
a
new
eye
.
When
strangers
looked
curiously
at
the
scarlet
letter
and
none
ever
failed
to
do
so
--
they
branded
it
afresh
in
Hester
's
soul
;
so
that
,
oftentimes
,
she
could
scarcely
refrain
,
yet
always
did
refrain
,
from
covering
the
symbol
with
her
hand
.
But
then
,
again
,
an
accustomed
eye
had
likewise
its
own
anguish
to
inflict
.
Its
cool
stare
of
familiarity
was
intolerable
.
From
first
to
last
,
in
short
,
Hester
Prynne
had
always
this
dreadful
agony
in
feeling
a
human
eye
upon
the
token
;
the
spot
never
grew
callous
;
it
seemed
,
on
the
contrary
,
to
grow
more
sensitive
with
daily
torture
.
But
sometimes
,
once
in
many
days
,
or
perchance
in
many
months
,
she
felt
an
eye
--
a
human
eye
--
upon
the
ignominious
brand
,
that
seemed
to
give
a
momentary
relief
,
as
if
half
of
her
agony
were
shared
.
The
next
instant
,
back
it
all
rushed
again
,
with
still
a
deeper
throb
of
pain
;
for
,
in
that
brief
interval
,
she
had
sinned
anew
.
(
Had
Hester
sinned
alone
?
)
Her
imagination
was
somewhat
affected
,
and
,
had
she
been
of
a
softer
moral
and
intellectual
fibre
would
have
been
still
more
so
,
by
the
strange
and
solitary
anguish
of
her
life
.
Walking
to
and
fro
,
with
those
lonely
footsteps
,
in
the
little
world
with
which
she
was
outwardly
connected
,
it
now
and
then
appeared
to
Hester
--
if
altogether
fancy
,
it
was
nevertheless
too
potent
to
be
resisted
--
she
felt
or
fancied
,
then
,
that
the
scarlet
letter
had
endowed
her
with
a
new
sense
.
She
shuddered
to
believe
,
yet
could
not
help
believing
,
that
it
gave
her
a
sympathetic
knowledge
of
the
hidden
sin
in
other
hearts
.
She
was
terror-stricken
by
the
revelations
that
were
thus
made
.
What
were
they
?
Could
they
be
other
than
the
insidious
whispers
of
the
bad
angel
,
who
would
fain
have
persuaded
the
struggling
woman
,
as
yet
only
half
his
victim
,
that
the
outward
guise
of
purity
was
but
a
lie
,
and
that
,
if
truth
were
everywhere
to
be
shown
,
a
scarlet
letter
would
blaze
forth
on
many
a
bosom
besides
Hester
Prynne
's
?
Or
,
must
she
receive
those
intimations
--
so
obscure
,
yet
so
distinct
--
as
truth
?
In
all
her
miserable
experience
,
there
was
nothing
else
so
awful
and
so
loathsome
as
this
sense
.
It
perplexed
,
as
well
as
shocked
her
,
by
the
irreverent
inopportuneness
of
the
occasions
that
brought
it
into
vivid
action
.
Sometimes
the
red
infamy
upon
her
breast
would
give
a
sympathetic
throb
,
as
she
passed
near
a
venerable
minister
or
magistrate
,
the
model
of
piety
and
justice
,
to
whom
that
age
of
antique
reverence
looked
up
,
as
to
a
mortal
man
in
fellowship
with
angels
.
"
What
evil
thing
is
at
hand
?
"
would
Hester
say
to
herself
.
Lifting
her
reluctant
eyes
,
there
would
be
nothing
human
within
the
scope
of
view
,
save
the
form
of
this
earthly
saint
!
Again
a
mystic
sisterhood
would
contumaciously
assert
itself
,
as
she
met
the
sanctified
frown
of
some
matron
,
who
,
according
to
the
rumour
of
all
tongues
,
had
kept
cold
snow
within
her
bosom
throughout
life
.
That
unsunned
snow
in
the
matron
's
bosom
,
and
the
burning
shame
on
Hester
Prynne
's
--
what
had
the
two
in
common
?
Or
,
once
more
,
the
electric
thrill
would
give
her
warning
--
"
Behold
Hester
,
here
is
a
companion
!
"
and
,
looking
up
,
she
would
detect
the
eyes
of
a
young
maiden
glancing
at
the
scarlet
letter
,
shyly
and
aside
,
and
quickly
averted
,
with
a
faint
,
chill
crimson
in
her
cheeks
as
if
her
purity
were
somewhat
sullied
by
that
momentary
glance
.
O
Fiend
,
whose
talisman
was
that
fatal
symbol
,
wouldst
thou
leave
nothing
,
whether
in
youth
or
age
,
for
this
poor
sinner
to
revere
?
--
such
loss
of
faith
is
ever
one
of
the
saddest
results
of
sin
.
Be
it
accepted
as
a
proof
that
all
was
not
corrupt
in
this
poor
victim
of
her
own
frailty
,
and
man
's
hard
law
,
that
Hester
Prynne
yet
struggled
to
believe
that
no
fellow-mortal
was
guilty
like
herself
The
vulgar
,
who
,
in
those
dreary
old
times
,
were
always
contributing
a
grotesque
horror
to
what
interested
their
imaginations
,
had
a
story
about
the
scarlet
letter
which
we
might
readily
work
up
into
a
terrific
legend
.
They
averred
that
the
symbol
was
not
mere
scarlet
cloth
,
tinged
in
an
earthly
dye-pot
,
but
was
red-hot
with
infernal
fire
,
and
could
be
seen
glowing
all
alight
whenever
Hester
Prynne
walked
abroad
in
the
night-time
.
And
we
must
needs
say
it
seared
Hester
's
bosom
so
deeply
,
that
perhaps
there
was
more
truth
in
the
rumour
than
our
modern
incredulity
may
be
inclined
to
admit
.
We
have
as
yet
hardly
spoken
of
the
infant
that
little
creature
,
whose
innocent
life
had
sprung
,
by
the
inscrutable
decree
of
Providence
,
a
lovely
and
immortal
flower
,
out
of
the
rank
luxuriance
of
a
guilty
passion
.
How
strange
it
seemed
to
the
sad
woman
,
as
she
watched
the
growth
,
and
the
beauty
that
became
every
day
more
brilliant
,
and
the
intelligence
that
threw
its
quivering
sunshine
over
the
tiny
features
of
this
child
!
Her
Pearl
--
for
so
had
Hester
called
her
;
not
as
a
name
expressive
of
her
aspect
,
which
had
nothing
of
the
calm
,
white
,
unimpassioned
lustre
that
would
be
indicated
by
the
comparison
.
But
she
named
the
infant
"
Pearl
,
"
as
being
of
great
price
--
purchased
with
all
she
had
--
her
mother
's
only
treasure
!
How
strange
,
indeed
!
Man
had
marked
this
woman
's
sin
by
a
scarlet
letter
,
which
had
such
potent
and
disastrous
efficacy
that
no
human
sympathy
could
reach
her
,
save
it
were
sinful
like
herself
.
God
,
as
a
direct
consequence
of
the
sin
which
man
thus
punished
,
had
given
her
a
lovely
child
,
whose
place
was
on
that
same
dishonoured
bosom
,
to
connect
her
parent
for
ever
with
the
race
and
descent
of
mortals
,
and
to
be
finally
a
blessed
soul
in
heaven
!
Yet
these
thoughts
affected
Hester
Prynne
less
with
hope
than
apprehension
.
She
knew
that
her
deed
had
been
evil
;
she
could
have
no
faith
,
therefore
,
that
its
result
would
be
good
.
Day
after
day
she
looked
fearfully
into
the
child
's
expanding
nature
,
ever
dreading
to
detect
some
dark
and
wild
peculiarity
that
should
correspond
with
the
guiltiness
to
which
she
owed
her
being
.
Certainly
there
was
no
physical
defect
.
By
its
perfect
shape
,
its
vigour
,
and
its
natural
dexterity
in
the
use
of
all
its
untried
limbs
,
the
infant
was
worthy
to
have
been
brought
forth
in
Eden
:
worthy
to
have
been
left
there
to
be
the
plaything
of
the
angels
after
the
world
's
first
parents
were
driven
out
.
The
child
had
a
native
grace
which
does
not
invariably
co-exist
with
faultless
beauty
;
its
attire
,
however
simple
,
always
impressed
the
beholder
as
if
it
were
the
very
garb
that
precisely
became
it
best
.
But
little
Pearl
was
not
clad
in
rustic
weeds
.
Her
mother
,
with
a
morbid
purpose
that
may
be
better
understood
hereafter
,
had
bought
the
richest
tissues
that
could
be
procured
,
and
allowed
her
imaginative
faculty
its
full
play
in
the
arrangement
and
decoration
of
the
dresses
which
the
child
wore
before
the
public
eye
.
So
magnificent
was
the
small
figure
when
thus
arrayed
,
and
such
was
the
splendour
of
Pearl
's
own
proper
beauty
,
shining
through
the
gorgeous
robes
which
might
have
extinguished
a
paler
loveliness
,
that
there
was
an
absolute
circle
of
radiance
around
her
on
the
darksome
cottage
floor
.
And
yet
a
russet
gown
,
torn
and
soiled
with
the
child
's
rude
play
,
made
a
picture
of
her
just
as
perfect
.
Pearl
's
aspect
was
imbued
with
a
spell
of
infinite
variety
;
in
this
one
child
there
were
many
children
,
comprehending
the
full
scope
between
the
wild-flower
prettiness
of
a
peasant-baby
,
and
the
pomp
,
in
little
,
of
an
infant
princess
.
Throughout
all
,
however
,
there
was
a
trait
of
passion
,
a
certain
depth
of
hue
,
which
she
never
lost
;
and
if
in
any
of
her
changes
,
she
had
grown
fainter
or
paler
,
she
would
have
ceased
to
be
herself
--
it
would
have
been
no
longer
Pearl
!
