The Scarlet Letter

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

side-walk, 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!"