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"
Fie
,
woman
--
fie
!
"
cried
the
old
lady
,
shaking
her
finger
at
Hester
.
"
Dost
thou
think
I
have
been
to
the
forest
so
many
times
,
and
have
yet
no
skill
to
judge
who
else
has
been
there
?
Yea
,
though
no
leaf
of
the
wild
garlands
which
they
wore
while
they
danced
be
left
in
their
hair
!
I
know
thee
,
Hester
,
for
I
behold
the
token
.
We
may
all
see
it
in
the
sunshine
!
and
it
glows
like
a
red
flame
in
the
dark
.
Thou
wearest
it
openly
,
so
there
need
be
no
question
about
that
.
But
this
minister
!
Let
me
tell
thee
in
thine
ear
!
When
the
Black
Man
sees
one
of
his
own
servants
,
signed
and
sealed
,
so
shy
of
owning
to
the
bond
as
is
the
Reverend
Mr.
Dimmesdale
,
he
hath
a
way
of
ordering
matters
so
that
the
mark
shall
be
disclosed
,
in
open
daylight
,
to
the
eyes
of
all
the
world
!
What
is
that
the
minister
seeks
to
hide
,
with
his
hand
always
over
his
heart
?
Ha
,
Hester
Prynne
?
"
"
What
is
it
,
good
Mistress
Hibbins
?
"
eagerly
asked
little
Pearl
.
"
Hast
thou
seen
it
?
"
"
No
matter
,
darling
!
"
responded
Mistress
Hibbins
,
making
Pearl
a
profound
reverence
.
"
Thou
thyself
wilt
see
it
,
one
time
or
another
.
They
say
,
child
,
thou
art
of
the
lineage
of
the
Prince
of
Air
!
Wilt
thou
ride
with
me
some
fine
night
to
see
thy
father
?
Then
thou
shalt
know
wherefore
the
minister
keeps
his
hand
over
his
heart
!
"
Laughing
so
shrilly
that
all
the
market-place
could
hear
her
,
the
weird
old
gentlewoman
took
her
departure
.
By
this
time
the
preliminary
prayer
had
been
offered
in
the
meeting-house
,
and
the
accents
of
the
Reverend
Mr.
Dimmesdale
were
heard
commencing
his
discourse
.
An
irresistible
feeling
kept
Hester
near
the
spot
.
As
the
sacred
edifice
was
too
much
thronged
to
admit
another
auditor
,
she
took
up
her
position
close
beside
the
scaffold
of
the
pillory
.
It
was
in
sufficient
proximity
to
bring
the
whole
sermon
to
her
ears
,
in
the
shape
of
an
indistinct
but
varied
murmur
and
flow
of
the
minister
's
very
peculiar
voice
.
This
vocal
organ
was
in
itself
a
rich
endowment
,
insomuch
that
a
listener
,
comprehending
nothing
of
the
language
in
which
the
preacher
spoke
,
might
still
have
been
swayed
to
and
fro
by
the
mere
tone
and
cadence
.
Like
all
other
music
,
it
breathed
passion
and
pathos
,
and
emotions
high
or
tender
,
in
a
tongue
native
to
the
human
heart
,
wherever
educated
.
Muffled
as
the
sound
was
by
its
passage
through
the
church
walls
,
Hester
Prynne
listened
with
such
intenseness
,
and
sympathized
so
intimately
,
that
the
sermon
had
throughout
a
meaning
for
her
,
entirely
apart
from
its
indistinguishable
words
.
These
,
perhaps
,
if
more
distinctly
heard
,
might
have
been
only
a
grosser
medium
,
and
have
clogged
the
spiritual
sense
.
Now
she
caught
the
low
undertone
,
as
of
the
wind
sinking
down
to
repose
itself
;
then
ascended
with
it
,
as
it
rose
through
progressive
gradations
of
sweetness
and
power
,
until
its
volume
seemed
to
envelop
her
with
an
atmosphere
of
awe
and
solemn
grandeur
.
And
yet
,
majestic
as
the
voice
sometimes
became
,
there
was
for
ever
in
it
an
essential
character
of
plaintiveness
.
A
loud
or
low
expression
of
anguish
--
the
whisper
,
or
the
shriek
,
as
it
might
be
conceived
,
of
suffering
humanity
,
that
touched
a
sensibility
in
every
bosom
!
At
times
this
deep
strain
of
pathos
was
all
that
could
be
heard
,
and
scarcely
heard
sighing
amid
a
desolate
silence
.
But
even
when
the
minister
's
voice
grew
high
and
commanding
--
when
it
gushed
irrepressibly
upward
--
when
it
assumed
its
utmost
breadth
and
power
,
so
overfilling
the
church
as
to
burst
its
way
through
the
solid
walls
,
and
diffuse
itself
in
the
open
air
--
still
,
if
the
auditor
listened
intently
,
and
for
the
purpose
,
he
could
detect
the
same
cry
of
pain
.
What
was
it
?
The
complaint
of
a
human
heart
,
sorrow-laden
,
perchance
guilty
,
telling
its
secret
,
whether
of
guilt
or
sorrow
,
to
the
great
heart
of
mankind
;
beseeching
its
sympathy
or
forgiveness
--
at
every
moment
--
in
each
accent
--
and
never
in
vain
!
It
was
this
profound
and
continual
undertone
that
gave
the
clergyman
his
most
appropriate
power
.
During
all
this
time
,
Hester
stood
,
statue-like
,
at
the
foot
of
the
scaffold
.
If
the
minister
's
voice
had
not
kept
her
there
,
there
would
,
nevertheless
,
have
been
an
inevitable
magnetism
in
that
spot
,
whence
she
dated
the
first
hour
of
her
life
of
ignominy
.
There
was
a
sense
within
her
--
too
ill-defined
to
be
made
a
thought
,
but
weighing
heavily
on
her
mind
--
that
her
whole
orb
of
life
,
both
before
and
after
,
was
connected
with
this
spot
,
as
with
the
one
point
that
gave
it
unity
.
