Hester Prynne remained constant in her resolve to make known toMr. Dimmesdale, at whatever risk of present pain or ulteriorconsequences, the true character of the man who had crept intohis intimacy. For several days, however, she vainly sought anopportunity of addressing him in some of the meditative walkswhich she knew him to be in the habit of taking along the shoresof the Peninsula, or on the wooded hills of the neighbouringcountry. There would have been no scandal, indeed, nor peril tothe holy whiteness of the clergyman's good fame, had she visitedhim in his own study, where many a penitent, ere now, hadconfessed sins of perhaps as deep a dye as the one betokened bythe scarlet letter. But, partly that she dreaded the secret orundisguised interference of old Roger Chillingworth, and partlythat her conscious heart imparted suspicion where none couldhave been felt, and partly that both the minister and she wouldneed the whole wide world to breathe in, while they talkedtogether--for all these reasons Hester never thought of meetinghim in any narrower privacy than beneath the open sky.

At last, while attending a sick chamber, whither the Rev. Mr.Dimmesdale had been summoned to make a prayer, she learnt thathe had gone, the day before, to visit the Apostle Eliot, amonghis Indian converts. He would probably return by a certain hourin the afternoon of the morrow. Betimes, therefore, the nextday, Hester took little Pearl--who was necessarily the companionof all her mother's expeditions, however inconvenient herpresence--and set forth.

The road, after the two wayfarers had crossed from the Peninsulato the mainland, was no other than a foot-path. It straggledonward into the mystery of the primeval forest. This hemmed itin so narrowly, and stood so black and dense on either side, anddisclosed such imperfect glimpses of the sky above, that, toHester's mind, it imaged not amiss the moral wilderness in whichshe had so long been wandering. The day was chill and sombre.Overhead was a gray expanse of cloud, slightly stirred, however,by a breeze; so that a gleam of flickering sunshine might nowand then be seen at its solitary play along the path. Thisflitting cheerfulness was always at the further extremity ofsome long vista through the forest. The sportivesunlight--feebly sportive, at best, in the predominantpensiveness of the day and scene--withdrew itself as they camenigh, and left the spots where it had danced the drearier,because they had hoped to find them bright.

"Mother," said little Pearl, "the sunshine does not love you.It runs away and hides itself, because it is afraid of somethingon your bosom. Now, see! There it is, playing a good way off.Stand you here, and let me run and catch it. I am but a child.It will not flee from me--for I wear nothing on my bosom yet!"

"Nor ever will, my child, I hope," said Hester.

"And why not, mother?" asked Pearl, stopping short, just at thebeginning of her race. "Will not it come of its own accord whenI am a woman grown?"

"Run away, child," answered her mother, "and catch the sunshine.It will soon be gone."

Pearl set forth at a great pace, and as Hester smiled toperceive, did actually catch the sunshine, and stood laughing inthe midst of it, all brightened by its splendour, andscintillating with the vivacity excited by rapid motion. Thelight lingered about the lonely child, as if glad of such aplaymate, until her mother had drawn almost nigh enough to stepinto the magic circle too.

"It will go now," said Pearl, shaking her head.

"See!" answered Hester, smiling; "now I can stretch out my handand grasp some of it."

As she attempted to do so, the sunshine vanished; or, to judgefrom the bright expression that was dancing on Pearl's features,her mother could have fancied that the child had absorbed itinto herself, and would give it forth again, with a gleam abouther path, as they should plunge into some gloomier shade. Therewas no other attribute that so much impressed her with a senseof new and untransmitted vigour in Pearl's nature, as this neverfailing vivacity of spirits: she had not the disease of sadness,which almost all children, in these latter days, inherit, withthe scrofula, from the troubles of their ancestors. Perhapsthis, too, was a disease, and but the reflex of the wild energywith which Hester had fought against her sorrows before Pearl'sbirth. It was certainly a doubtful charm, imparting a hard,metallic lustre to the child's character. She wanted--what somepeople want throughout life--a grief that should deeply touchher, and thus humanise and make her capable of sympathy. Butthere was time enough yet for little Pearl.

"Come, my child!" said Hester, looking about her from the spotwhere Pearl had stood still in the sunshine--"we will sit down alittle way within the wood, and rest ourselves."

"I am not aweary, mother," replied the little girl. "But youmay sit down, if you will tell me a story meanwhile."

"A story, child!" said Hester. "And about what?"

"Oh, a story about the Black Man," answered Pearl, taking holdof her mother's gown, and looking up, half earnestly, halfmischievously, into her face.

"How he haunts this forest, and carries a book with him a big,heavy book, with iron clasps; and how this ugly Black Man offershis book and an iron pen to everybody that meets him here amongthe trees; and they are to write their names with their ownblood; and then he sets his mark on their bosoms. Didst thouever meet the Black Man, mother?"

"And who told you this story, Pearl," asked her mother,recognising a common superstition of the period.

"It was the old dame in the chimney corner, at the house whereyou watched last night," said the child. "But she fancied measleep while she was talking of it. She said that a thousand anda thousand people had met him here, and had written in his book,and have his mark on them. And that ugly tempered lady, oldMistress Hibbins, was one. And, mother, the old dame said thatthis scarlet letter was the Black Man's mark on thee, and thatit glows like a red flame when thou meetest him at midnight,here in the dark wood. Is it true, mother? And dost thou go tomeet him in the nighttime?"

"Didst thou ever awake and find thy mother gone?" asked Hester."Not that I remember," said the child. "If thou fearest to leaveme in our cottage, thou mightest take me along with thee. Iwould very gladly go! But, mother, tell me now! Is there such aBlack Man? And didst thou ever meet him? And is this his mark?"

"Wilt thou let me be at peace, if I once tell thee?" asked hermother.

"Yes, if thou tellest me all," answered Pearl.

"Once in my life I met the Black Man!" said her mother. "Thisscarlet letter is his mark!"

Thus conversing, they entered sufficiently deep into the wood tosecure themselves from the observation of any casual passengeralong the forest track. Here they sat down on a luxuriant heapof moss; which at some epoch of the preceding century, had beena gigantic pine, with its roots and trunk in the darksome shade,and its head aloft in the upper atmosphere. It was a little dellwhere they had seated themselves, with a leaf-strewn bank risinggently on either side, and a brook flowing through the midst,over a bed of fallen and drowned leaves. The trees impendingover it had flung down great branches from time to time, whichchoked up the current, and compelled it to form eddies and blackdepths at some points; while, in its swifter and livelierpassages there appeared a channel-way of pebbles, and brown,sparkling sand. Letting the eyes follow along the course of thestream, they could catch the reflected light from its water, atsome short distance within the forest, but soon lost all tracesof it amid the bewilderment of tree-trunks and underbrush, andhere and there a huge rock covered over with gray lichens. Allthese giant trees and boulders of granite seemed intent onmaking a mystery of the course of this small brook; fearing,perhaps, that, with its never-ceasing loquacity, it shouldwhisper tales out of the heart of the old forest whence itflowed, or mirror its revelations on the smooth surface of apool. Continually, indeed, as it stole onward, the streamletkept up a babble, kind, quiet, soothing, but melancholy, likethe voice of a young child that was spending its infancy withoutplayfulness, and knew not how to be merry among sad acquaintanceand events of sombre hue.

"Oh, brook! Oh, foolish and tiresome little brook!" criedPearl, after listening awhile to its talk, "Why art thou so sad?Pluck up a spirit, and do not be all the time sighing andmurmuring!"

But the brook, in the course of its little lifetime among theforest trees, had gone through so solemn an experience that itcould not help talking about it, and seemed to have nothing elseto say. Pearl resembled the brook, inasmuch as the current ofher life gushed from a well-spring as mysterious, and had flowedthrough scenes shadowed as heavily with gloom. But, unlike thelittle stream, she danced and sparkled, and prattled airilyalong her course.

"What does this sad little brook say, mother?" inquired she.

"If thou hadst a sorrow of thine own, the brook might tell theeof it," answered her mother, "even as it is telling me of mine.But now, Pearl, I hear a footstep along the path, and the noiseof one putting aside the branches. I would have thee betakethyself to play, and leave me to speak with him that comesyonder."

"Is it the Black Man?" asked Pearl.

"Wilt thou go and play, child?" repeated her mother, "But do notstray far into the wood. And take heed that thou come at myfirst call."

"Yes, mother," answered Pearl, "But if it be the Black Man, wiltthou not let me stay a moment, and look at him, with his bigbook under his arm?"

"Go, silly child!" said her mother impatiently. "It is no BlackMan! Thou canst see him now, through the trees. It is theminister!"

"And so it is!" said the child. "And, mother, he has his handover his heart! Is it because, when the minister wrote his namein the book, the Black Man set his mark in that place? But whydoes he not wear it outside his bosom, as thou dost, mother?"

"Go now, child, and thou shalt tease me as thou wilt anothertime," cried Hester Prynne. "But do not stray far. Keep wherethou canst hear the babble of the brook."

The child went singing away, following up the current of thebrook, and striving to mingle a more lightsome cadence with itsmelancholy voice. But the little stream would not be comforted,and still kept telling its unintelligible secret of some verymournful mystery that had happened--or making a propheticlamentation about something that was yet to happen--within theverge of the dismal forest. So Pearl, who had enough of shadowin her own little life, chose to break off all acquaintance withthis repining brook. She set herself, therefore, to gatheringviolets and wood-anemones, and some scarlet columbines that shefound growing in the crevice of a high rock.

When her elf-child had departed, Hester Prynne made a step ortwo towards the track that led through the forest, but stillremained under the deep shadow of the trees. She beheld theminister advancing along the path entirely alone, and leaning ona staff which he had cut by the wayside. He looked haggard andfeeble, and betrayed a nerveless despondency in his air, whichhad never so remarkably characterised him in his walks about thesettlement, nor in any other situation where he deemed himselfliable to notice. Here it was wofully visible, in this intenseseclusion of the forest, which of itself would have been a heavytrial to the spirits. There was a listlessness in his gait, asif he saw no reason for taking one step further, nor felt anydesire to do so, but would have been glad, could he be glad ofanything, to fling himself down at the root of the nearest tree,and lie there passive for evermore. The leaves might bestrewhim, and the soil gradually accumulate and form a little hillockover his frame, no matter whether there were life in it or no.Death was too definite an object to be wished for or avoided.

To Hester's eye, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale exhibited nosymptom of positive and vivacious suffering, except that, aslittle Pearl had remarked, he kept his hand over his heart.