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"
It
is
done
!
"
muttered
the
minister
,
covering
his
face
with
his
hands
.
"
The
whole
town
will
awake
and
hurry
forth
,
and
find
me
here
!
"
But
it
was
not
so
.
The
shriek
had
perhaps
sounded
with
a
far
greater
power
,
to
his
own
startled
ears
,
than
it
actually
possessed
.
The
town
did
not
awake
;
or
,
if
it
did
,
the
drowsy
slumberers
mistook
the
cry
either
for
something
frightful
in
a
dream
,
or
for
the
noise
of
witches
,
whose
voices
,
at
that
period
,
were
often
heard
to
pass
over
the
settlements
or
lonely
cottages
,
as
they
rode
with
Satan
through
the
air
.
The
clergyman
,
therefore
,
hearing
no
symptoms
of
disturbance
,
uncovered
his
eyes
and
looked
about
him
.
At
one
of
the
chamber-windows
of
Governor
Bellingham
's
mansion
,
which
stood
at
some
distance
,
on
the
line
of
another
street
,
he
beheld
the
appearance
of
the
old
magistrate
himself
with
a
lamp
in
his
hand
a
white
night-cap
on
his
head
,
and
a
long
white
gown
enveloping
his
figure
.
He
looked
like
a
ghost
evoked
unseasonably
from
the
grave
.
The
cry
had
evidently
startled
him
.
At
another
window
of
the
same
house
,
moreover
appeared
old
Mistress
Hibbins
,
the
Governor
's
sister
,
also
with
a
lamp
,
which
even
thus
far
off
revealed
the
expression
of
her
sour
and
discontented
face
.
She
thrust
forth
her
head
from
the
lattice
,
and
looked
anxiously
upward
Beyond
the
shadow
of
a
doubt
,
this
venerable
witch-lady
had
heard
Mr.
Dimmesdale
's
outcry
,
and
interpreted
it
,
with
its
multitudinous
echoes
and
reverberations
,
as
the
clamour
of
the
fiends
and
night-hags
,
with
whom
she
was
well
known
to
make
excursions
in
the
forest
.
Detecting
the
gleam
of
Governor
Bellingham
's
lamp
,
the
old
lady
quickly
extinguished
her
own
,
and
vanished
.
Possibly
,
she
went
up
among
the
clouds
.
The
minister
saw
nothing
further
of
her
motions
.
The
magistrate
,
after
a
wary
observation
of
the
darkness
--
into
which
,
nevertheless
,
he
could
see
but
little
further
than
he
might
into
a
mill-stone
--
retired
from
the
window
.
The
minister
grew
comparatively
calm
.
His
eyes
,
however
,
were
soon
greeted
by
a
little
glimmering
light
,
which
,
at
first
a
long
way
off
was
approaching
up
the
street
.
It
threw
a
gleam
of
recognition
,
on
here
a
post
,
and
there
a
garden
fence
,
and
here
a
latticed
window-pane
,
and
there
a
pump
,
with
its
full
trough
of
water
,
and
here
again
an
arched
door
of
oak
,
with
an
iron
knocker
,
and
a
rough
log
for
the
door-step
.
The
Reverend
Mr.
Dimmesdale
noted
all
these
minute
particulars
,
even
while
firmly
convinced
that
the
doom
of
his
existence
was
stealing
onward
,
in
the
footsteps
which
he
now
heard
;
and
that
the
gleam
of
the
lantern
would
fall
upon
him
in
a
few
moments
more
,
and
reveal
his
long-hidden
secret
.
As
the
light
drew
nearer
,
be
beheld
,
within
its
illuminated
circle
,
his
brother
clergyman
--
or
,
to
speak
more
accurately
,
his
professional
father
,
as
well
as
highly
valued
friend
--
the
Reverend
Mr.
Wilson
,
who
,
as
Mr.
Dimmesdale
now
conjectured
,
had
been
praying
at
the
bedside
of
some
dying
man
.
And
so
he
had
.
The
good
old
minister
came
freshly
from
the
death-chamber
of
Governor
Winthrop
,
who
had
passed
from
earth
to
heaven
within
that
very
hour
.
And
now
surrounded
,
like
the
saint-like
personage
of
olden
times
,
with
a
radiant
halo
,
that
glorified
him
amid
this
gloomy
night
of
sin
--
as
if
the
departed
Governor
had
left
him
an
inheritance
of
his
glory
,
or
as
if
he
had
caught
upon
himself
the
distant
shine
of
the
celestial
city
,
while
looking
thitherward
to
see
the
triumphant
pilgrim
pass
within
its
gates
--
now
,
in
short
,
good
Father
Wilson
was
moving
homeward
,
aiding
his
footsteps
with
a
lighted
lantern
!
The
glimmer
of
this
luminary
suggested
the
above
conceits
to
Mr.
Dimmesdale
,
who
smiled
--
nay
,
almost
laughed
at
them
--
and
then
wondered
if
he
was
going
mad
.
As
the
Reverend
Mr.
Wilson
passed
beside
the
scaffold
,
closely
muffling
his
Geneva
cloak
about
him
with
one
arm
,
and
holding
the
lantern
before
his
breast
with
the
other
,
the
minister
could
hardly
restrain
himself
from
speaking
--
"
A
good
evening
to
you
,
venerable
Father
Wilson
.
Come
up
hither
,
I
pray
you
,
and
pass
a
pleasant
hour
with
me
!
"
Good
Heavens
!
Had
Mr.
Dimmesdale
actually
spoken
?
For
one
instant
he
believed
that
these
words
had
passed
his
lips
.
But
they
were
uttered
only
within
his
imagination
.
The
venerable
Father
Wilson
continued
to
step
slowly
onward
,
looking
carefully
at
the
muddy
pathway
before
his
feet
,
and
never
once
turning
his
head
towards
the
guilty
platform
.
When
the
light
of
the
glimmering
lantern
had
faded
quite
away
,
the
minister
discovered
,
by
the
faintness
which
came
over
him
,
that
the
last
few
moments
had
been
a
crisis
of
terrible
anxiety
,
although
his
mind
had
made
an
involuntary
effort
to
relieve
itself
by
a
kind
of
lurid
playfulness
.
