Chapter 12  THE MINISTER'S VIGIL

WALKING in the shadow of a dream, as it were, and perhaps actually under the influence of a species of somnambulism, Mr Dimmesdale reached the spot, where, now so long since, Hester Prynne had lived through her first hours of public ignominy. The same platform or scaffold, black and weather-stained with the storm or sunshine of seven long years, and foot-worn, too, with the tread of many culprits who had since ascended it, remained standing beneath the balcony of the meeting-house. The minister went up the steps.

It was an obscure night of early May. An unvaried pall of cloud muffled the whole expanse of sky from zenith to horizon. If the same multitude which had stood as eye-witnesses while Hester Prynne sustained her punishment could now have been summoned forth, they would have discerned no face above the platform, nor hardly the outline of a human shape, in the dark grey of the midnight. But the town was all asleep. There was no peril of discovery. The minister might stand there, if it so pleased him, until morning should redden in the east, without other risk than that the dank and chill night-air would creep into his frame, and stiffen his joints with rheumatism, and clog his throat with catarrh and cough; thereby defrauding the expectant audience of to-morrow's prayer and sermon. No eye could see him, save that ever-wakeful one which had seen him in his closet, wielding the bloody scourge. Why, then, had he come hither? Was it but the mockery of penitence? A mockery, indeed, but in which his soul trifled with itself! A mockery at which angels blushed and wept, while fiends rejoiced, with jeering laughter! He had been driven hither by the impulse of that Remorse which dogged him everywhere, and whose own sister and closely linked companion was that Cowardice which invariably drew him back, with her tremulous gripe, just when the other impulse had hurried him to the verge of a disclosure. Poor,miserable man! what right had infirmity like his to burden itself with crime? Crime is for the iron-nerved, who have their choice either to endure it, or, if it press too hard, to exert their fierce and savage strength for a good purpose, and fling it off at once! This feeble and most sensitive of spirits could do neither, yet continually did one thing or another, which intertwined, in the same inextricable knot, the agony of heaven-defying guilt and vain repentance.

And thus, while standing on the scaffold, in this vain show of expiation, Mr. Dimmesdale was overcome with a great horror of mind, as if the universe were gazing at a scarlet token on his naked breast, right over his heart. On that spot, in very truth, there was, and there had long been, the gnawing and poisonous tooth of bodily pain. Without any effort of his will, or power to restrain himself, he shrieked aloud; an outcry that went pealing through the night, and was beaten back from one house to another, and reverberated from the hills in the background; as if a company of devils, detecting so much misery and terror in it, had made a plaything of the sound, and were bandying it to and fro.

"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 into 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 farther 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 windowpane, 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 grew nearer, he 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 personages 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 were 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 toward 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.

Shortly afterwards, the like grisly sense of the humorous again stole in among the solemn phantoms of his thought. He felt his limbs growing stiff with the unaccustomed chilliness of the night, and doubted whether he should be able to descend the steps of the scaffold. Morning would break, and find him there. The neighbourhood would begin to rouse itself. The earliest riser, coming forth in the dim twilight, would perceive a vaguely defined figure aloft on the place of shame; and, half crazed betwixt alarm and curiosity, would go, knocking from door to door, summoning all the people to behold the ghost- as he needs must think it- of some defunct transgressor. A dusky tumult would flap its wings from one house to another. Then- the morning light still waxing stronger- old patriarchs would rise up in great haste, each in his flannel gown, and matronly dames, without pausing to put off their night-gear. The whole tribe of decorous personages, who had never heretofore been seen with a single hair of their heads awry, would start into public view, with the disorder of a nightmare in their aspects. Old Governor Bellingham would come grimly forth, with his King James ruff fastened askew; and Mistress Hibbins, with some twigs of the forest clinging to her skirts, and looking sourer than ever, as having hardly got a wink of sleep after her night ride; and good Father Wilson, too, after spending half the night at a death-bed, and liking ill to be disturbed, thus early, out of his dreams about the glorified saints. Hither, likewise, would come the elders and deacons of Mr Dimmesdale's church, and the young virgins who so idolised their minister, and had made a shrine for him in their white bosoms; which now, by-the-bye, in their hurry and confusion, they would scantily have given themselves time to cover with their kerchiefs. All people, in a word, would come stumbling over their thresholds, and turning up their amazed and horror-stricken visages around the scaffold. Whom would they discern there, with the red eastern light upon his brow? Whom, but the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, half frozen to death, overwhelmed with shame, and standing where Hester Prynne had stood!

Carried away by the grotesque horror of this picture, the minister, unawares, and to his own infinite alarm, burst into a great peal of laughter. It was immediately responded to by a light, airy, childish laugh, in which, with a thrill of the heart- but he knew not whether of exquisite pain, or pleasure as acute- he recognised the tones of little Pearl.

"Pearl! Little Pearl!" cried he, after a moment's pause; then, suppressing his voice- "Hester! Hester Prynne! Are you there?"

"Yes; it is Hester Prynne!" she replied, in a tone of surprise; and the minister heard her footsteps approaching from the sidewalk, along which she had been passing. "It is I, and my little Pearl."

"Whence come you, Hester?" asked the minister. "What sent you hither?"

"I have been watching at a death-bed," answered Hester Prynne- "at Governor Winthrop's death-bed, and have taken his measure for a robe, and am now going homeward to my dwelling."

"Come up hither, Hester, thou and little Pearl," said the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. "Ye have both been here before, but I was not with you. Come up hither once again, and we will stand all three together!"

She silently ascended the steps, and stood on the platform, holding little Pearl by the hand. The minister felt for the child's other hand, and took it. The moment that he did so, there came what seemed a tumultuous rush of new life, other life than his own, pouring like a torrent into his heart, and hurrying through all his veins, as if the mother and the child were communicating their vital warmth to his half-torpid system. The three formed an electric chain.

"Minister!" whispered little Pearl.

"What wouldst thou say, child?" asked Mr. Dimmesdale.

"Wilt thou stand here with mother and me, to-morrow noontide?" inquired Pearl.

"Nay; not so, my little Pearl," answered the minister; for, with the new energy of the moment, all the dread of public exposure, that had so long been the anguish of his life, had returned upon him; and he was already trembling at the conjunction in which- with a strange joy, nevertheless- he now found himself. "Not so, my child. I shall, indeed, stand with thy mother and thee one other day, but not to-morrow."

Pearl laughed, and attempted to pull away her hand. But the minister held it fast.

"A moment longer, my child!" said he.

"But wilt thou promise," asked Pearl, "to take my hand, and mother's hand, to-morrow noontide?"

"Not then, Pearl," said the minister, "but another time."

"And what other time?" persisted the child.

"At the great judgment day," whispered the minister- and, strangely enough, the sense that he was a professional teacher of the truth impelled him to answer the child so. "Then, and there, before the judgment-seat, thy mother, and thou, and I, must stand together. But the daylight of this world shall not see our meeting!"

Pearl laughed again.

But, before Mr. Dimmesdale had done speaking, a light gleamed far and wide over all the muffled sky. It was doubtless caused by one of those meteors which the night-watcher may so often observe burning out to waste, in the vacant regions of the atmosphere. So powerful was its radiance, that it thoroughly illuminated the dense medium of cloud betwixt the sky and earth. The great vault brightened, like the dome of an immense lamp. It showed the familiar scene of the street, with the distinctness of mid-day, but also with the awfulness that is always imparted to familiar objects by an unaccustomed light. The wooden houses, with their jutting stories and quaint gable-peaks; the door-steps and thresholds, with the early grass springing up about them; the garden-plots, black with freshly turned earth; the wheel-track, little worn, and, even in the market-place, margined with green on either side all- were visible, but with a singularity of aspect that seemed to give another moral interpretation to the things of this world than they had ever borne before. And there stood the minister, with his hand over his heart; and Hester Prynne, with the embroidered letter glimmering on her bosom; and little Pearl, herself a symbol, and the connecting link between those two. They stood in the noon of that strange and solemn splendour, as if it were the light that is to reveal all secrets, and the daybreak that shall unite all who belong to one another.

There was witchcraft in little Pearl's eyes; and her face, as she glanced upward at the minister, wore that naughty smile which made its expression frequently so elvish. She withdrew her hand from Mr. Dimmesdale's, and pointed across the street. But he clasped both his hands over his breast, and cast his eyes towards the zenith.

Nothing was more common, in those days, than to interpret all meteoric appearances, and other natural phenomena, that occurred with less regularity than the rise and set of sun and moon, as so many revelations from a supernatural source. Thus, a blazing spear, a sword of flame, a bow, or a sheaf of arrows, seen in the midnight sky, prefigured Indian warfare. Pestilence was known to have been foreboded by a shower of crimson light. We doubt whether any marked event, for good or evil, ever befell New England, from its settlement down to Revolutionary times, of which the inhabitants had not been previously warned by some spectacle of this nature. Not seldom, it had been seen by multitudes. Oftener, however, its credibility rested on the faith of some lonely eye-witness, who beheld the wonder through the coloured, magnifying, and distorting medium of his imagination, and shaped it more distinctly in his afterthought. It was, indeed, a majestic idea, that the destiny of nations should be revealed, in these awful hieroglyphics, on the cope of heaven. A scroll so wide might not be deemed too expansive for Providence to write a people's doom upon. The belief was a favourite one with our forefathers, as betokening that their infant commonwealth was under a celestial guardianship of peculiar intimacy and strictness. But what shall we say, when an individual discovers a revelation, addressed to himself alone, on the same vast sheet of record! In such a case, it could only be the symptom of a highly disordered mental state, when a man, rendered morbidly self-contemplative by long, intense, and secret pain, had extended his egotism over the whole expanse of nature, until the firmament itself should appear no more than a fitting page for his soul's history and fate!

We impute it, therefore, solely to the disease in his own eye and heart, that the minister, looking upward to the zenith, beheld there the appearance of an immense letter- the letter A- marked out in lines of dull red light. Not but the meteor may have shown itself at that point, burning duskily through a veil of cloud; but with no such shape as his guilty imagination gave it; or, at least, with so little definiteness, that another's guilt might have seen another symbol in it.

There was a singular circumstance that characterised Mr. Dimmesdale's psychological state at this moment. All the time that he gazed upward to the zenith, he was, nevertheless, perfectly aware that little Pearl was pointing her finger towards old Roger Chillingworth, who stood at no great distance from the scaffold. The minister appeared to see him, with the same glance that discerned the miraculous letter. To his features, as to all other objects, the meteoric light imparted a new expression; or it might well be that the physician was not careful then, as at all other times, to hide the malevolence with which he looked upon his victim. Certainly, if the meteor kindled up the sky, and disclosed the earth, with an awfulness that admonished Hester Prynne and the clergyman of the day of judgment, then might Roger Chillingworth have passed with them for the arch-fiend, standing there with a smile and scowl, to claim his own. So vivid was the expression, or so intense the minister's perception of it, that it seemed still to remain painted on the darkness, after the meteor had vanished, with an effect as if the street and all things else were at once annihilated.

"Who is that man, Hester?" gasped Mr. Dimmesdale, overcome with terror. "I shiver at him! Dost thou know the man? I hate him, Hester!"

She remembered her oath, and was silent.

"I tell thee, my soul shivers at him!" muttered the minister again. "Who is he? Who is he? Canst thou do nothing for me? I have a nameless horror of the man!"

"Minister," said little Pearl, "I can tell thee who he is!"

"Quickly, then, child!" said the minister, bending his ear close to her lips. "Quickly!- and as low as thou canst whisper."

Pearl mumbled something into his ear, that sounded, indeed, like human language, but was only such gibberish as children may be heard amusing themselves with, by the hour together. At all events, if it involved any secret information in regard to old Roger Chillingworth, it was in a tongue unknown to the erudite clergyman, and did but increase the bewilderment of his mind. The elvish child then laughed aloud.

"Dost thou mock me now?" said the minister.

"Thou wast not bold!- thou wast not true!" answered the child. "Thou wouldst not promise to take my hand, and mother's hand, to-morrow noontide!"

"Worthy sir," answered the physician, who had now advanced to the foot of the platform. "Pious Master Dimmesdale! can this be you? Well, well, indeed! We men of study, whose heads are in our books, have need to be straitly looked after! We dream in our waking moments, and walk in our sleep. Come, good sir, and my dear friend, I pray you, let me lead you home!"

"How knewest thou that I was here?" asked the minister fearfully.

"Verily, and in good faith," answered Roger Chillingworth, "I knew nothing of the matter. I had spent the better part of the night at the bedside of the worshipful Governor Winthrop, doing what my poor skill might to give him ease. He going home to a better world, I, likewise, was on my way homeward, when this strange light shone out. Come with me, I beseech you, reverend sir; else you will be poorly able to do Sabbath duty to-morrow. Aha! see now, how they trouble the brain- these books!- these books! You should study less, good sir, and take a little pastime; or these night-whimseys will grow upon you."

"I will go home with you," said Mr. Dimmesdale.

With a chill despondency, like one awaking, all nerveless, from an ugly dream, be yielded himself to the physician, and was led away.

The next day, however, being the Sabbath, he preached a discourse which was held to be the richest and most powerful, and the most replete with heavenly influences, that had ever proceeded from his lips. Souls, it is said, more souls than one, were brought to the truth by the efficacy of that sermon, and vowed within themselves to cherish a holy gratitude towards Mr. Dimmesdale throughout the long hereafter. But, as he came down the pulpit steps, the grey-bearded sexton met him, holding up a black glove, which the minister recognised as his own.

"It was found," said the sexton, "this morning, on the scaffold where evil-doers are set up to public shame. Satan dropped it there, I take it, intending a scurrilous jest against your reverence. But, indeed, he was blind and foolish, as he ever and always is. A pure hand needs no glove to cover it!"

"Thank you, my good friend," said the minister gravely, but startled at heart; for, so confused was his remembrance, that he had almost brought himself to look at the events of the past night as visionary. "Yes, it seems to be my glove, indeed!"

"And, since Satan saw fit to steal it, your reverence must needs handle him without gloves, henceforward," remarked the old sexton, grimly smiling. "But did your reverence hear of the portent that was seen last night?- a great red letter in the sky- the letter A, which we interpret to stand for Angel. For, as our good Governor Winthrop was made an angel this past night, it was doubtless held fit that there should be some notice thereof!"

"No," answered the minister, "I had not heard of it."

丁梅斯代尔先生当真是在一种梦幻的阴影中行走，或许实际上是在一种梦游的影响下行走，他一直来到当初海丝特．白兰第一次公开受辱数小时的地点。还是那一座平台或刑台，由于七年悠长岁月的风吹日晒雨淋已经变得斑驳黎黑，而且由于又有许多犯人登台示众已经给践踏得高低不平，不过它依然矗立在议事厅的阳台之下。牧师一步步走上台阶。

那是五月初的一个朦胧的夜晚。一望无际的云幕蒙住了从天顶到地乎线的整个夜空。假如当年海丝特．白兰忍辱受罚时站在那里围观的人群能够重新召集起来的话，他们在这昏黑的午夜依然无法分辨台上人的面孔，甚至也难以看清那人的轮廓。不过，整个城镇都在睡梦之中，不会有被人发观的危险。只要牧师愿意，他可以在那儿一直站到东方泛红。除去阴冷的空气会钻进他的肌体，风湿症会弄僵他的关节，粘膜炎和咳嗽会妨碍他的喉咙之外，绝无其它风险可担；果真染上这些症状，也无非是让翌日参加祈祷和布道的听众的殷殷期望落空而已。没有谁的眼睛会看到他，尽是要除掉那一双始终警觉的眼睛——那人已经看到过他在内室中用血淋淋的鞭子捆打自己了。既然如此，他为什么还要到这里来呢？难道只是对仟悔加以嘲弄吗？这确实是一种嘲弄，但是在这种嘲弄之中，他的灵魂却在自嘲！这种嘲弄，天使会为之胀红着脸哭泣，而恶魔则会嬉笑着称庆！他是被那追逐得他无地自容的“自责”的冲动驱赶到这里来的，而这“自责”的胞妹和密友则是“怯懦”。每当“自责”的冲动催促他到达坦白的边缘时，“怯懦”就一定会用颤抖的双手拖他回去。可怜的不幸的人啊！象他这样一个柔弱的人如何承受得起罪恶的重负呢？罪恶是那种神经如钢铁的人干的，他们自己可以选择：要么甘心忍受；要么在受压过甚时便运用自己凶猛的蛮力，振臂一甩，以达目的！这个身体赢弱而精神敏感的人两者都不能做到，却又不停地彷徨于二者之间，时而这，时而那，终将滔天之罪的痛苦与徒劳无益的悔恨纠缠在一起，形成死结。

就这样，丁梅斯代尔先生站立到刑台之上，进行这场无济于事的赎罪表演，这时，一种巨大的恐怖感攫佐了他，仿佛整个宇宙都在盯视他裸露的胸膛上正在心口处的红色标记。就在那块地方，肉体痛苦的毒牙确确实实在咬啮着他，而且已经为时很久了。他没有了任何意志力或控制力，便大吼一声，这一声嘶叫直插夜空，在一家家住宅间震响，并回荡在背后的丛山之中，象是有一伙魔鬼发现这声音中有如许多的不幸和恐怖，便将它当作玩物，来来回回地摆弄起来。

“这下子完了！”牧师用双手遮住脸，喃喃自语。“全镇的人都会惊醒，匆忙跑来，在这儿发现我了！”

但是并没有发生这种情况。，那声尖叫，在他自己受惊的耳朵听起来，要比实际的音响大得多。镇上人并没有惊醒，就算惊醒了，那些睡得昏昏沉沉的人也会误以为这喊叫是梦中的惊悸或是女巫的吵闹——在那个年月，当女巫们随着撒旦飞过天际时，她们的声音时常在居民区或孤独的茅屋上空掠过，被人们听见。因此，牧师没有听见任何骚动的征象，便不再捂着眼，并四下张望。在稍远的另一条街上，在贝灵汉总督宅邸的一个内室的窗口，他看到那位老长官露出头来，手中拿着一盏灯，头上戴着一顶白色睡帽，周身上下裹着一件白色长袍。他那副样子就象是一个从坟墓中不合时宜地钻出来的鬼魂。显然是那叫声惊醒了他。还有，那座房子的另一个窗口，出现了总督的姐姐，，西宾斯老夫人，她手里也拿着一盏灯，尽管距离这么远，仍然能看出她脸上那种乖戾不满的表情。她把头探出窗格，不安地朝天仰望。不消说，这位令人敬畏的老妖婆已经听到了丁梅斯代尔先生的叫喊，并且由于那无数的回声和反响，她还以为是恶魔和夜间飞行的女巫的喧嚣呢，人们都知道，她常同它们一起在林中嬉游。那老夫人一发现贝灵汉总督的灯光，就赶紧一日吹熄了自己的灯，消失不见了。很可能她飞上了云端。牧师再也望不见她‘的踪影了。总督在小心翼翼地向暗中观察一番之后，也缩回了身子，当然，在这般黑夜中他看不了多远，比起要望穿一块磨石相差无几。

牧师渐渐地比较平静了。不过，他的目光很快便迎到一道微弱的闪光，起初还在远处，后来便沿街逐渐接近了。那闪光投在周围，可以辨出这里有一根立枝，那里有一段园篱；这儿有一扇格窗玻璃，那儿有一个卿筒和满槽的水；近处还有一座拱形橡木大门，上面有铁制扣环，下面是一段粗木充当台阶。可敬的丁梅斯代尔先生尽管此时坚信，他的末日已经在他听到的脚步声中悄悄临近，但还是注意到了这些细小之物；而且再过几分钟，那闪亮的灯光就要照到他，暴露出他隐藏已久的秘密。当那灯光越来越近时，他在那一晕光圈之中看到了他的牧师兄弟——或者说得更确切些，是他同道中的父辈，也是他极为敬重的朋友——可敬的威尔逊先生；据丁梅斯代尔先生此时的推断，他一定是刚从某个弥留者的病榻边祈祷归来。事实果然如此。这位好心的老牧师正是刚刚从温斯洛普总督的停尸房中回来，那位大人就在这一时辰中从尘世升入了天国。此时，老牧师象旧日的圣者似的，周围罩着一圈光环，使他在这罪孽的昏夜中发出荣光——似乎那已故的总督把自己的荣光遗赠绘了他，又好象当老牧师仰望那凯旋的朝圣者跨进天国时，那遥远的天光洒到了他身上——简而言之，此财那好心的神父威尔逊正借助灯光为自己引路，一步步走回家去！也正是那盏灯的昏光，触发了丁梅斯代尔先生的上述奇思异想，使他绽出了微笑——不，他简直是对那想法放声大笑——之后就怀疑自己是否要发疯了。可敬的威尔逊先生走过刑台时，一手将黑色宽袖长法衣紧紧裹住他的身躯，另一手将灯举到胸前，就在此刻，丁梅斯代尔牧师几乎禁不住要说出口了：

“晚上好，可敬的威尔逊神父！我请求你到这里来，陪我过上一小时欢乐的时光吧！”

天啊！丁梅斯代尔先生当真说出声了吗？在一刹那间，他相信这些话确实已经说出了口。其实只是在他的想象之中发出了声。那可敬的威尔逊神父依旧缓缓地朝前走着，眼睛死盯住脚下的泥径，根本没朝刑台侧头瞥上一眼。在那闪亮的灯光渐渐消逝在远处之后，牧师在袭来的一阵昏迷中发现，刚才那一刻间，确实有一种非常焦心的危机；尽管他内心不禁竭力用一种凄凉的强颜欢笑来加以宽慰。

不久，在他脑海中的肃穆幻象中又悄悄夹杂进来同样可怕的古怪念头。他感到由于不惯于夜间的凉意，四肢逐渐发僵，并且怀疑自己还能否走下刑台的台阶。天将破晓，他会被人发现站在台上。四邻将开始起身。最早起床的人踏人晨曦的微光，将会看到有个轮廓模糊的身形高高站在耻辱台上；于是便会在半惊骇半好奇之中走开去，敲开一家又一家的大门，叫人们出来看这已死的罪人的鬼魂——那人一定会这么想的。一阵破晓时的喧闹将从一家飞到另一家。之后，曙光渐明，老汉们会匆忙爬起身，穿上法兰绒长袍，主妇们则顾不上脱下她们的睡衣。那伙衣冠楚楚的人物，平素里从来没人见过他们有一丝头发散乱，此时也会遭了梦魇股的衣冠不整地就跑到了众人眼前。老总督贝灵汉会歪戴着他那詹姆士王时期的环状皱领，绷紧面孔走出来；西宾斯太太，由于彻夜邀游不曾阖眼，脸色会较平时更加难看，而裙上还会沾着林中细校；好心的威尔逊神父也会来的，他在死者床边熬了半夜，对于这么早就给从光荣的圣徒的美梦中惊醒，满肚子不高兴。到这里来的还会有了梅斯代尔先生教堂中的长老们和执事们，以及那些对自己的牧师祟拜之极、在她们洁白的心胸中为他立了圣龛的少女们；顺便说一下，她们此时正在慌乱之中，会根本来不及蒙上面巾。总而言之，所有的人都会磕磕绊绊地通过门槛，在刑台四周抬起惊惶的面孔。他们会依稀看到那里站着一个人，额上映着东方的红光，那会是谁呢？除去可敬的阿瑟·丁梅斯代尔先生还能是谁！他已经冻得半死，正满面羞惭地站在海丝特·白兰曾经示众的地方！

牧师的神思随着这一荒唐可怖的画面驰骋，在不知不觉之中突然爆发出一阵狂笑，一连他自己都大吃一惊。这狂笑立刻得到一声轻灵的童稚笑声的响应，随着一阵心悸——不过他弄不清到底是出于剧烈的痛楚抑或极度的欢乐——，他从笑声中辨出了小珠儿的腔调。

“珠儿！小珠儿！”他稍停片刻就喊道；然后，他压低了嗓音说：“海丝特！海丝特·白兰！是你在那儿吗？”

“是的；我是海丝特·白兰！”她应答着，语调中充满惊奇；接着牧师听到了她走下便道，逐渐接近的脚步声。“是我，还有我的小珠儿。”

“你从哪里来，海丝特？”牧师问道。“你怎么到这儿来啦？”

“我刚刚守护在一个死者的床边，”海丝特·白兰回答说，“是在温斯洛普总督床边，给他量了袍子的尺寸，现在我正往家里走。”

“上这儿来吧，海丝特，你，还有小珠儿，”可敬的丁梅斯代尔先生说。“你们母女俩以前已经在这儿站过了，可是我当时没和你们在一起。再上来一次吧，我们三日人一起站着吧！”

她默默地踏上台阶，并且站到了台上，手中一直牵着小珠儿。牧师够着孩子的另一只手，也握住了。就在他这么做的瞬间，似有一般不同于他自己生命的新生命的激越之潮，急流般涌入他的心房，冲过他周身的血管，仿佛那母女俩正把她们生命的温暖传递给他半麻木的躯体。三人构成了一条闭合的电路。

“牧师！”小珠儿悄声说。

“你要说什么啊，孩子？”丁梅斯代尔先生问道。

“你愿意在明天中午的时候，跟妈妈和我一块站在这儿吗？”珠儿询问着。

“不成；不能那样，我的小珠儿，”牧师回答说；由于那瞬间的新精力，长期以来折磨着他生命的对示众的种种恐惧，又重新回到他心头；而且，他对目前的这种团聚——虽说也有一种陌生的欢偷——已经颤栗不安了。“那样不成，我的孩子。真的，终有一天，我一定同你妈妈和你站在一起，不过明天还不成。”珠儿笑着，想抽出她的手。但牧师紧紧地握住了。

“再稍待一会儿，我的孩子！”他说。

“可你一定要答应，”殊儿问道，“明天中午握着我的手和妈妈的手，好吧？”

“明天还不成，珠儿，”牧师说着，“得换换时间。”

“那在什么时候呢？”孩子一劲地追问。

“在最后审判日，”牧师耳语说——说来奇怪，是他身为传播真理的牧师的职业感迫使他这么答复孩子的。“到了那一天，在审判座前面，你妈妈，你，还有我，应该站在一起。但这个世界的光天化日是不会看到我们在一起的！”珠儿又笑了。

但不等丁梅斯代尔先生把话讲完，乌云遮蔽的夜空上便远远地闪过一道宽阔的亮光。那无疑是一颗流星发出来的，守夜人可能经常看到这种流星在空旷的苍窜中燃成灰烬。它发散出的光辉十分强烈，把天地间浓厚的云层照得通明。那广漠的天穹变得雪亮，犹如一盏巨灯的圆顶。它就象白昼一般清晰地勾勒出街上熟悉的景色，但也乎添了那种由不寻常的光线照到熟悉的物体上总要产生的可怕印象。那些附有突出的楼层和古怪的角顶的木屋；那台阶和门槛，以、及周围早早破土而出的青草；那些覆着新翻出的黑土的园圃；那些有点发旧，甚至在市场一带两侧都长满了绿草的车道——这一切全都清晰可见，不过都露出一种独特的模样，似是给这些世上的事物一种前所未有的另一种道义上的解释。就在那儿，站着牧师，他一手捂着心口；还有海丝特，白兰，胸前闪着刺绣的字母；以及小珠儿，她本人就是一个象征着他同她之间连接的环节。他们三人站在亮如白昼的奇妙而肃穆的光辉里，似乎正是那光辉要揭示一切隐秘，而那白昼则要将所有相属的人结合在一起。

小珠儿的眼中闪着妖气，当她仰望牧师时，脸上带着那种调皮的微笑，使她的表情时常都是那么鬼精灵似的。她从牧师手中抽出手来，指着街道对面。但他紧握双手捂在胸前，抬眼眺望天顶。

在那年代，凡是流星出现和不象日月升落这么规律的其它自然现象，统统都被解释为超自然力量所给予的启示，这是再普通不过的事了。于是，在午夜的天空中，如果看到一支闪光的长矛、一支冒着烈焰的剑、一张弓、一簇箭这类形象，便会认为是印第安人要打仗的预兆。瘟疫，则人所周知是由一阵红光示警的。从移民时期直到革命年代，凡是发生在新英格兰的重大事件，无论好也罢，坏也罢，恐怕都受过这类性质的某种景象的事先警告。许多人都曾多次见过。不过，更多的情况是，这种景象的可信性不过是某个单独的目睹者心诚所致，他用想象中那种有色的、放大的和变形的中介来看待这种奇迹，再在事后的回忆中更加清晰地勾勒出来。国家的命运居然会在无限的天际中用这些可怕而费解的符号揭示出来，这种念头实在伟大。对于上苍来说，在这样广漠的轴卷上写下对一个民族的判决，恐怕也不能算太大。我们的先祖笃信这类事情倒是好事，因为这说明，他们的新生的共和国，是在天意的格外垂青和严格监视之下的。但是，当某人发现出现在同样大幅的卷面上的一个启示只是针对他一人的时候，我们又该作何评论呢？在这种情况下——当一个人由于长期的和强烈的隐痛而备受自我反省的煎熬，他把自我已经扩展到整个大自然，以致天空本身不过是适于书写他的历史和命运的纸张时，这种“启示”只能是他精神状态极度混乱的症状罢了！

因此，当牧师抬眼眺望天顶，看到出现了用暗红色的光线勾出的巨大字母“A”时，我们只能归结为他由于心病而眼睛出了毛病。这并非是说，当时根本没有流星出现并在云霭中隐隐燃烧；而是说并没有他那负罪的想象力所赋予的那种形状；或者，至少不是那么确定无疑——别的罪人也可能从中看到另一种象征呢。

当时还有一个特殊的细节可以说明了梅斯代尔先生的心理状态。在仰望天顶的整个过程中，他始终非常清楚，小珠儿在指着站得离刑台不远的老罗杰·齐灵渥斯。牧师似乎用辨出那神奇字母的同样目光，也看见了他。流星的亮光，如同对一切其它物体一样，也给予他的容貌一种崭新的表情；也可能是，医生当时没有象乎素那样小心地掩饰他看着自己的牺牲品时的那种恶毒样子。诚然，如果那流星照亮了天空，显现了大地，并以末日审判来威胁海丝特·白兰和牧师的话，那么，罗杰·齐灵渥斯就可以看作是魔王，他怒目狞笑地站在那里，等候着来认领他们。他的表情如此真切，或者说，牧师对其感觉是那么强烈，直到那流星殒落、街道及一切其它东西都立即湮灭之后，依然如画般地保持在黑暗中。

“那人是谁，海丝特？”丁梅斯代尔先生心惊胆战地喘着气说。“我一见他就发抖！你认识那人吗？我恨他，海丝特！”她记起了她的誓言，便默不作声。

“我告诉你，一见到他，我的灵魂就发抖！”牧师又嗫嚅着说。“他是谁？他是谁？你不能帮我一下吗？我对那人有一种无名的恐惧！”

“牧师，”小珠儿说，“我能告诉你他是谁！”

“那就快说吧，孩子！”牧师说着，弯腰把耳朵凑近她的嘴唇。

“快说吧！——悄悄地，尽量小声点。”

珠儿在他耳边嘀咕了几句，听着倒真象说话，其实只是儿童们在一起玩的时候所发的莫名其妙的音符。无论如何，即使其中包含着有关老罗杰·齐灵握斯的秘密信息，也是博学的牧师所不懂的，只能徒增他的困惑面已。接着那小精灵似的孩子笑出了声。

“你在拿我开心吗？”牧师说。

“你胆小！——你不老实！”那孩子回答说。“你不愿意答应明天中午拉着我和妈妈的手！”

“尊贵的先生，”医生一边应声说，一边走到平台脚下。“虔诚的丁梅斯代尔牧师，难道当真是你吗？哎哟哟，果然是的！我们这些作学问的人，就知埋头书本，确实需要好好照看！我们会醒着作梦，睡着走路的。来吧，好先生，我的亲爱的朋友，我请求你啦，让我带你回家吧！”

“你怎么会知道我在这儿呢？”牧师惊惧地问。

“说真的，我讲的是实话，”罗杰·齐灵渥斯回答，“我对此一无所知。’我在那令人崇敬的温斯洛普总督的床边呆了大半夜，尽拙技之能为他减轻痛苦。他现正返回他美好世界的家，我呢，也在回家的路上，就在这时闪出了那道奇怪的光。跟我走吧，我求求你，可敬的先生；不然的话，明天安息日你就没法尽好责任了。啊哈！瞧啊，这些书本多么烦人啊——这些书本！——这些书本！你要少读点书，好先生，想法散散心；否则，这夜游症在你身上会越来越重的。”

“我就跟你一起回家吧，”丁梅斯代尔先生说。

他就象一个刚刚从噩梦中惊醒的人，周身无力，心中懊丧得发冷，便听凭那医生把自己领走了。

第二天恰好是安息日，他的布道被认为是他宣讲过的最丰富、最有力，也是最充满神启的。据称，不只一个人而是很多的灵魂领悟了那次布道的真谛，在内心中发誓今后要永远怀着对丁梅斯代尔先生的神圣的感激之情。但是，就在他走下讲坛的阶梯时，那灰胡须的教堂司役上来迎着他。那人手中举着一只黑手套，牧师认出了是自己的。

“这是，”那司役说，“今天一早在干了坏事的人示众的刑台那儿发现的。我想，准是撒旦丢在那儿，有意中伤阁下您的。不过，说实在的，他还是跟平常一样，又瞎又蠢；而且会总是这样的。一只纯洁的手是不需要用手套来遮掩的！”

“谢谢你，我的好朋友，”牧师庄重地说，心头却暗吃一惊；因为他的记忆已经紊乱，竟然把昨夜的事情看作是幻象了。“是啊，看来是我的手套，真的！”，

“那么，既然撒旦瞅机会偷了它去，阁下您以后就应该不戴手套去对付他了，”那老司役狞笑着说。“不过，阁下您听说昨天夜里人们看见的征兆了吗？——天上显出一个大红字母‘A’，我们都解释是代表‘天使’①。因为，昨天夜里，我们那位善心的温斯洛普总督成了天使，所以不用说，上天要显显象才是呢！”“没有，”牧师答道，“我没听说这件事。”

①英文“天使”一词为Angel，也是以“A”起始。