The Scarlet Letter

Old Roger Chillingworth, throughout life, had been calm in

temperament, kindly, though not of warm affections, but ever,

and in all his relations with the world, a pure and upright man.

He had begun an investigation, as he imagined, with the severe

and equal integrity of a judge, desirous only of truth, even as

if the question involved no more than the air-drawn lines and

figures of a geometrical problem, instead of human passions, and

wrongs inflicted on himself. But, as he proceeded, a terrible

fascination, a kind of fierce, though still calm, necessity,

seized the old man within its gripe, and never set him free

again until he had done all its bidding. He now dug into the

poor clergyman's heart, like a miner searching for gold; or,

rather, like a sexton delving into a grave, possibly in quest of

a jewel that had been buried on the dead man's bosom, but likely

to find nothing save mortality and corruption. Alas, for his own

soul, if these were what he sought!

Sometimes a light glimmered out of the physician's eyes, burning

blue and ominous, like the reflection of a furnace, or, let us

say, like one of those gleams of ghastly fire that darted from

Bunyan's awful doorway in the hillside, and quivered on the

pilgrim's face. The soil where this dark miner was working had

perchance shown indications that encouraged him.

"This man," said he, at one such moment, to himself, "pure as

they deem him--all spiritual as he seems--hath inherited a

strong animal nature from his father or his mother. Let us dig a

little further in the direction of this vein!"

Then after long search into the minister's dim interior, and

turning over many precious materials, in the shape of high

aspirations for the welfare of his race, warm love of souls,

pure sentiments, natural piety, strengthened by thought and

study, and illuminated by revelation--all of which invaluable

gold was perhaps no better than rubbish to the seeker--he would

turn back, discouraged, and begin his quest towards another

point. He groped along as stealthily, with as cautious a tread,

and as wary an outlook, as a thief entering a chamber where a

man lies only half asleep--or, it may be, broad awake--with

purpose to steal the very treasure which this man guards as the

apple of his eye. In spite of his premeditated carefulness, the

floor would now and then creak; his garments would rustle; the

shadow of his presence, in a forbidden proximity, would be

thrown across his victim. In other words, Mr. Dimmesdale, whose

sensibility of nerve often produced the effect of spiritual

intuition, would become vaguely aware that something inimical to

his peace had thrust itself into relation with him. But Old

Roger Chillingworth, too, had perceptions that were almost

intuitive; and when the minister threw his startled eyes towards

him, there the physician sat; his kind, watchful, sympathising,

but never intrusive friend.