Old Roger Chillingworth, throughout life, had been calm intemperament, 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 severeand equal integrity of a judge, desirous only of truth, even asif the question involved no more than the air-drawn lines andfigures of a geometrical problem, instead of human passions, andwrongs inflicted on himself. But, as he proceeded, a terriblefascination, a kind of fierce, though still calm, necessity,seized the old man within its gripe, and never set him freeagain until he had done all its bidding. He now dug into thepoor clergyman's heart, like a miner searching for gold; or,rather, like a sexton delving into a grave, possibly in quest ofa jewel that had been buried on the dead man's bosom, but likelyto find nothing save mortality and corruption. Alas, for his ownsoul, if these were what he sought!

Sometimes a light glimmered out of the physician's eyes, burningblue and ominous, like the reflection of a furnace, or, let ussay, like one of those gleams of ghastly fire that darted fromBunyan's awful doorway in the hillside, and quivered on thepilgrim's face. The soil where this dark miner was working hadperchance shown indications that encouraged him.

"This man," said he, at one such moment, to himself, "pure asthey deem him--all spiritual as he seems--hath inherited astrong animal nature from his father or his mother. Let us dig alittle further in the direction of this vein!"

Then after long search into the minister's dim interior, andturning over many precious materials, in the shape of highaspirations for the welfare of his race, warm love of souls,pure sentiments, natural piety, strengthened by thought andstudy, and illuminated by revelation--all of which invaluablegold was perhaps no better than rubbish to the seeker--he wouldturn back, discouraged, and begin his quest towards anotherpoint. He groped along as stealthily, with as cautious a tread,and as wary an outlook, as a thief entering a chamber where aman lies only half asleep--or, it may be, broad awake--withpurpose to steal the very treasure which this man guards as theapple of his eye. In spite of his premeditated carefulness, thefloor would now and then creak; his garments would rustle; theshadow of his presence, in a forbidden proximity, would bethrown across his victim. In other words, Mr. Dimmesdale, whosesensibility of nerve often produced the effect of spiritualintuition, would become vaguely aware that something inimical tohis peace had thrust itself into relation with him. But OldRoger Chillingworth, too, had perceptions that were almostintuitive; and when the minister threw his startled eyes towardshim, there the physician sat; his kind, watchful, sympathising,but never intrusive friend.

Yet Mr. Dimmesdale would perhaps have seen this individual'scharacter more perfectly, if a certain morbidness, to which sickhearts are liable, had not rendered him suspicious of allmankind. Trusting no man as his friend, he could not recognizehis enemy when the latter actually appeared. He therefore stillkept up a familiar intercourse with him, daily receiving the oldphysician in his study, or visiting the laboratory, and, forrecreation's sake, watching the processes by which weeds wereconverted into drugs of potency.

One day, leaning his forehead on his hand, and his elbow on thesill of the open window, that looked towards the grave-yard, hetalked with Roger Chillingworth, while the old man was examininga bundle of unsightly plants.

"Where," asked he, with a look askance at them--for it was theclergyman's peculiarity that he seldom, now-a-days, lookedstraight forth at any object, whether human or inanimate,"where, my kind doctor, did you gather those herbs, with such adark, flabby leaf?"

"Even in the graveyard here at hand," answered the physician,continuing his employment. "They are new to me. I found themgrowing on a grave, which bore no tombstone, no other memorialof the dead man, save these ugly weeds, that have taken uponthemselves to keep him in remembrance. They grew out of hisheart, and typify, it may be, some hideous secret that wasburied with him, and which he had done better to confess duringhis lifetime."

"Perchance," said Mr. Dimmesdale, "he earnestly desired it, butcould not."

"And wherefore?" rejoined the physician.

"Wherefore not; since all the powers of nature call so earnestlyfor the confession of sin, that these black weeds have sprung upout of a buried heart, to make manifest, an outspoken crime?"

"That, good sir, is but a phantasy of yours," replied theminister. "There can be, if I forbode aright, no power, short ofthe Divine mercy, to disclose, whether by uttered words, or bytype or emblem, the secrets that may be buried in the humanheart. The heart, making itself guilty of such secrets, mustperforce hold them, until the day when all hidden things shallbe revealed. Nor have I so read or interpreted Holy Writ, as tounderstand that the disclosure of human thoughts and deeds, thento be made, is intended as a part of the retribution. That,surely, were a shallow view of it. No; these revelations, unlessI greatly err, are meant merely to promote the intellectualsatisfaction of all intelligent beings, who will stand waiting,on that day, to see the dark problem of this life made plain. Aknowledge of men's hearts will be needful to the completestsolution of that problem. And, I conceive moreover, that thehearts holding such miserable secrets as you speak of, willyield them up, at that last day, not with reluctance, but with ajoy unutterable."

"Then why not reveal it here?" asked Roger Chillingworth,glancing quietly aside at the minister. "Why should not theguilty ones sooner avail themselves of this unutterable solace?"

"They mostly do," said the clergyman, griping hard at hisbreast, as if afflicted with an importunate throb of pain."Many, many a poor soul hath given its confidence to me, notonly on the death-bed, but while strong in life, and fair inreputation. And ever, after such an outpouring, oh, what arelief have I witnessed in those sinful brethren! even as in onewho at last draws free air, after a long stifling with his ownpolluted breath. How can it be otherwise? Why should a wretchedman--guilty, we will say, of murder--prefer to keep the deadcorpse buried in his own heart, rather than fling it forth atonce, and let the universe take care of it!"

"Yet some men bury their secrets thus," observed the calmphysician.

"True; there are such men," answered Mr. Dimmesdale. "But notto suggest more obvious reasons, it may be that they are keptsilent by the very constitution of their nature. Or--can we notsuppose it?--guilty as they may be, retaining, nevertheless, azeal for God's glory and man's welfare, they shrink fromdisplaying themselves black and filthy in the view of men;because, thenceforward, no good can be achieved by them; no evilof the past be redeemed by better service. So, to their ownunutterable torment, they go about among their fellow-creatures,looking pure as new-fallen snow, while their hearts are allspeckled and spotted with iniquity of which they cannot ridthemselves."

"These men deceive themselves," said Roger Chillingworth, withsomewhat more emphasis than usual, and making a slight gesturewith his forefinger. "They fear to take up the shame thatrightfully belongs to them. Their love for man, their zeal forGod's service--these holy impulses may or may not coexist intheir hearts with the evil inmates to which their guilt hasunbarred the door, and which must needs propagate a hellishbreed within them. But, if they seek to glorify God, let themnot lift heavenward their unclean hands! If they would servetheir fellowmen, let them do it by making manifest the power andreality of conscience, in constraining them to penitentialself-abasement! Would thou have me to believe, O wise and piousfriend, that a false show can be better--can be more for God'sglory, or man' welfare--than God's own truth? Trust me, such mendeceive themselves!"

"It may be so," said the young clergyman, indifferently, aswaiving a discussion that he considered irrelevant orunseasonable. He had a ready faculty, indeed, of escaping fromany topic that agitated his too sensitive and nervoustemperament.--"But, now, I would ask of my well-skilledphysician, whether, in good sooth, he deems me to have profitedby his kindly care of this weak frame of mine?"

Before Roger Chillingworth could answer, they heard the clear,wild laughter of a young child's voice, proceeding from theadjacent burial-ground. Looking instinctively from the openwindow--for it was summer-time--the minister beheld HesterPrynne and little Pearl passing along the footpath thattraversed the enclosure. Pearl looked as beautiful as the day,but was in one of those moods of perverse merriment which,whenever they occurred, seemed to remove her entirely out of thesphere of sympathy or human contact. She now skippedirreverently from one grave to another; until coming to thebroad, flat, armorial tombstone of a departed worthy--perhaps ofIsaac Johnson himself--she began to dance upon it. In reply toher mother's command and entreaty that she would behave moredecorously, little Pearl paused to gather the prickly burrs froma tall burdock which grew beside the tomb. Taking a handful ofthese, she arranged them along the lines of the scarlet letterthat decorated the maternal bosom, to which the burrs, as theirnature was, tenaciously adhered. Hester did not pluck them off.

Roger Chillingworth had by this time approached the window andsmiled grimly down.

"There is no law, nor reverence for authority, no regard forhuman ordinances or opinions, right or wrong, mixed up with thatchild's composition," remarked he, as much to himself as to hiscompanion. "I saw her, the other day, bespatter the Governorhimself with water at the cattle-trough in Spring Lane. What, inheaven's name, is she? Is the imp altogether evil? Hath sheaffections? Hath she any discoverable principle of being?"

"None, save the freedom of a broken law," answered Mr.Dimmesdale, in a quiet way, as if he had been discussing thepoint within himself, "Whether capable of good, I know not."

The child probably overheard their voices, for, looking up tothe window with a bright, but naughty smile of mirth andintelligence, she threw one of the prickly burrs at the Rev. Mr.Dimmesdale. The sensitive clergyman shrank, with nervous dread,from the light missile. Detecting his emotion, Pearl clapped herlittle hands in the most extravagant ecstacy. Hester Prynne,likewise, had involuntarily looked up, and all these fourpersons, old and young, regarded one another in silence, tillthe child laughed aloud, and shouted--"Come away, mother! Comeaway, or yonder old black man will catch you! He hath got holdof the minister already. Come away, mother or he will catch you!But he cannot catch little Pearl!"

So she drew her mother away, skipping, dancing, and friskingfantastically among the hillocks of the dead people, like acreature that had nothing in common with a bygone and buriedgeneration, nor owned herself akin to it. It was as if she hadbeen made afresh out of new elements, and must perforce bepermitted to live her own life, and be a law unto herselfwithout her eccentricities being reckoned to her for a crime.

"There goes a woman," resumed Roger Chillingworth, after apause, "who, be her demerits what they may, hath none of thatmystery of hidden sinfulness which you deem so grievous to beborne. Is Hester Prynne the less miserable, think you, for thatscarlet letter on her breast?"

"I do verily believe it," answered the clergyman."Nevertheless, I cannot answer for her. There was a look of painin her face which I would gladly have been spared the sight of.But still, methinks, it must needs be better for the sufferer tobe free to show his pain, as this poor woman Hester is, than tocover it up in his heart."

There was another pause, and the physician began anew to examineand arrange the plants which he had gathered.

"You inquired of me, a little time agone," said he, at length,"my judgment as touching your health."

"I did," answered the clergyman, "and would gladly learn it.Speak frankly, I pray you, be it for life or death."

"Freely then, and plainly," said the physician, still busy withhis plants, but keeping a wary eye on Mr. Dimmesdale, "thedisorder is a strange one; not so much in itself nor asoutwardly manifested,--in so far, at least as the symptoms havebeen laid open to my observation. Looking daily at you, my goodsir, and watching the tokens of your aspect now for months goneby, I should deem you a man sore sick, it may be, yet not sosick but that an instructed and watchful physician might wellhope to cure you. But I know not what to say, the disease iswhat I seem to know, yet know it not."

"You speak in riddles, learned sir," said the pale minister,glancing aside out of the window.

"Then, to speak more plainly," continued the physician, "and Icrave pardon, sir, should it seem to require pardon, for thisneedful plainness of my speech. Let me ask as your friend, asone having charge, under Providence, of your life and physicalwell being, hath all the operations of this disorder been fairlylaid open and recounted to me?"

"How can you question it?" asked the minister. "Surely it werechild's play to call in a physician and then hide the sore!"

"You would tell me, then, that I know all?" said RogerChillingworth, deliberately, and fixing an eye, bright withintense and concentrated intelligence, on the minister's face."Be it so! But again! He to whom only the outward and physicalevil is laid open, knoweth, oftentimes, but half the evil whichhe is called upon to cure. A bodily disease, which we look uponas whole and entire within itself, may, after all, be but asymptom of some ailment in the spiritual part. Your pardon onceagain, good sir, if my speech give the shadow of offence. You,sir, of all men whom I have known, are he whose body is theclosest conjoined, and imbued, and identified, so to speak, withthe spirit whereof it is the instrument."

"Then I need ask no further," said the clergyman, somewhathastily rising from his chair. "You deal not, I take it, inmedicine for the soul!"

"Thus, a sickness," continued Roger Chillingworth, going on, inan unaltered tone, without heeding the interruption, butstanding up and confronting the emaciated and white-cheekedminister, with his low, dark, and misshapen figure,--"asickness, a sore place, if we may so call it, in your spirithath immediately its appropriate manifestation in your bodilyframe. Would you, therefore, that your physician heal the bodilyevil? How may this be unless you first lay open to him the woundor trouble in your soul?"

"No, not to thee! not to an earthly physician!" cried Mr.Dimmesdale, passionately, and turning his eyes, full and bright,and with a kind of fierceness, on old Roger Chillingworth. "Notto thee! But, if it be the soul's disease, then do I commitmyself to the one Physician of the soul! He, if it stand withHis good pleasure, can cure, or he can kill. Let Him do with meas, in His justice and wisdom, He shall see good. But who artthou, that meddlest in this matter? that dares thrust himselfbetween the sufferer and his God?"

With a frantic gesture he rushed out of the room.

"It is as well to have made this step," said Roger Chillingworthto himself, looking after the minister, with a grave smile."There is nothing lost. We shall be friends again anon. But see,now, how passion takes hold upon this man, and hurrieth him outof himself! As with one passion so with another. He hath done awild thing ere now, this pious Master Dimmesdale, in the hotpassion of his heart."

It proved not difficult to re-establish the intimacy of the twocompanions, on the same footing and in the same degree asheretofore. The young clergyman, after a few hours of privacy,was sensible that the disorder of his nerves had hurried himinto an unseemly outbreak of temper, which there had beennothing in the physician's words to excuse or palliate. Hemarvelled, indeed, at the violence with which he had thrust backthe kind old man, when merely proffering the advice which it washis duty to bestow, and which the minister himself had expresslysought. With these remorseful feelings, he lost no time inmaking the amplest apologies, and besought his friend still tocontinue the care which, if not successful in restoring him tohealth, had, in all probability, been the means of prolonginghis feeble existence to that hour. Roger Chillingworth readilyassented, and went on with his medical supervision of theminister; doing his best for him, in all good faith, but alwaysquitting the patient's apartment, at the close of theprofessional interview, with a mysterious and puzzled smile uponhis lips. This expression was invisible in Mr. Dimmesdale'spresence, but grew strongly evident as the physician crossed thethreshold.

"A rare case," he muttered. "I must needs look deeper into it.A strange sympathy betwixt soul and body! Were it only for theart's sake, I must search this matter to the bottom."

It came to pass, not long after the scene above recorded, thatthe Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, noon-day, and entirely unawares,fell into a deep, deep slumber, sitting in his chair, with alarge black-letter volume open before him on the table. It musthave been a work of vast ability in the somniferous school ofliterature. The profound depth of the minister's repose was themore remarkable, inasmuch as he was one of those persons whosesleep ordinarily is as light as fitful, and as easily scaredaway, as a small bird hopping on a twig. To such an unwontedremoteness, however, had his spirit now withdrawn into itselfthat he stirred not in his chair when old Roger Chillingworth,without any extraordinary precaution, came into the room. Thephysician advanced directly in front of his patient, laid hishand upon his bosom, and thrust aside the vestment, thathitherto had always covered it even from the professional eye.

Then, indeed, Mr. Dimmesdale shuddered, and slightly stirred.

After a brief pause, the physician turned away.

But with what a wild look of wonder, joy, and horror! With whata ghastly rapture, as it were, too mighty to be expressed onlyby the eye and features, and therefore bursting forth throughthe whole ugliness of his figure, and making itself evenriotously manifest by the extravagant gestures with which hethrew up his arms towards the ceiling, and stamped his foot uponthe floor! Had a man seen old Roger Chillingworth, at thatmoment of his ecstasy, he would have had no need to ask howSatan comports himself when a precious human soul is lost toheaven, and won into his kingdom.

But what distinguished the physician's ecstasy from Satan's wasthe trait of wonder in it!