Червона літера
Hester and the Physician
Theunfortunatephysician,whileutteringthesewords,liftedhishandswithalookofhorror,asifhehadbeheldsomefrightfulshape,whichhecouldnotrecognise,usurpingtheplaceofhisownimageinaglass.Itwasoneofthosemoments—whichsometimesoccuronlyattheintervalofyears—whenaman’smoralaspectisfaithfullyrevealedtohismind’seye.Notimprobablyhehadneverbeforeviewedhimselfashedidnow.
"Hastthounottorturedhimenough?"saidHester,noticingtheoldman’slook."Hashenotpaidtheeall?"
"No,no!Hehasbutincreasedthedebt!"answeredthephysician,andasheproceeded,hismannerlostitsfiercercharacteristics,andsubsidedintogloom."Dostthourememberme,Hester,asIwasnineyearsagone?EventhenIwasintheautumnofmydays,norwasittheearlyautumn.Butallmylifehadbeenmadeupofearnest,studious,thoughtful,quietyears,bestowedfaithfullyfortheincreaseofmineownknowledge,andfaithfully,too,thoughthislatterobjectwasbutcasualtotheother—faithfullyfortheadvancementofhumanwelfare.Nolifehadbeenmorepeacefulandinnocentthanmine;fewlivessorichwithbenefitsconferred.Dostthourememberme?WasInot,thoughyoumightdeemmecold,neverthelessamanthoughtfulforothers,cravinglittleforhimself—kind,true,justandofconstant,ifnotwarmaffections?WasInotallthis?"
"Allthis,andmore,"saidHester.
