Червона літера
The Minister’s Vigil
Wilsonpassedbesidethescaffold,closelymufflinghisGenevacloakabouthimwithonearm,andholdingthelanternbeforehisbreastwiththeother,theministercouldhardlyrestrainhimselffromspeaking—
"Agoodeveningtoyou,venerableFatherWilson.Comeuphither,Iprayyou,andpassapleasanthourwithme!"
GoodHeavens!HadMr.Dimmesdaleactuallyspoken?Foroneinstanthebelievedthatthesewordshadpassedhislips.Buttheywereutteredonlywithinhisimagination.ThevenerableFatherWilsoncontinuedtostepslowlyonward,lookingcarefullyatthemuddypathwaybeforehisfeet,andneveronceturninghisheadtowardstheguiltyplatform.Whenthelightoftheglimmeringlanternhadfadedquiteaway,theministerdiscovered,bythefaintnesswhichcameoverhim,thatthelastfewmomentshadbeenacrisisofterribleanxiety,althoughhismindhadmadeaninvoluntaryefforttorelieveitselfbyakindofluridplayfulness.
Shortlyafterwards,thelikegrislysenseofthehumorousagainstoleinamongthesolemnphantomsofhisthought.Hefelthislimbsgrowingstiffwiththeunaccustomedchillinessofthenight,anddoubtedwhetherheshouldbeabletodescendthestepsofthescaffold.MorningwouldbreakandfindhimthereTheneighbourhoodwouldbegintorouseitself.
