Червона літера
The Child at the Brookside
Shemaybestrangeandshyatfirst,butwillsoonlearntolovethee!"
BythistimePearlhadreachedthemarginofthebrook,andstoodonthefurtherside,gazingsilentlyatHesterandtheclergyman,whostillsattogetheronthemossytree-trunkwaitingtoreceiveher.Justwhereshehadpaused,thebrookchancedtoformapoolsosmoothandquietthatitreflectedaperfectimageofherlittlefigure,withallthebrilliantpicturesquenessofherbeauty,initsadornmentofflowersandwreathedfoliage,butmorerefinedandspiritualizedthanthereality.Thisimage,sonearlyidenticalwiththelivingPearl,seemedtocommunicatesomewhatofitsownshadowyandintangiblequalitytothechildherself.Itwasstrange,thewayinwhichPearlstood,lookingsosteadfastlyatthemthroughthedimmediumoftheforestgloom,herself,meanwhile,allglorifiedwitharayofsunshine,thatwasattractedthitherwardasbyacertainsympathy.Inthebrookbeneathstoodanotherchild—anotherandthesame—withlikewiseitsrayofgoldenlight.Hesterfeltherself,insomeindistinctandtantalizingmanner,estrangedfromPearl,asifthechild,inherlonelyramblethroughtheforest,hadstrayedoutofthesphereinwhichsheandhermotherdwelttogether,andwasnowvainlyseekingtoreturntoit.
Therewerebothtruthanderrorintheimpression;thechildandmotherwereestranged,butthroughHester’sfault,notPearl’s.
