The Scarlet Letter

"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

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 whimsies will grow upon you."

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

With a chill despondency, like one awakening, all nerveless,

from an ugly dream, he 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!"