Червона літера
The Recognition
Itirksme,nevertheless,thatthepartnerofheriniquityshouldnotatleast,standonthescaffoldbyherside.Buthewillbeknown—hewillbeknown!—hewillbeknown!"
Hebowedcourteouslytothecommunicativetownsman,andwhisperingafewwordstohisIndianattendant,theybothmadetheirwaythroughthecrowd.
Whilethispassed,HesterPrynnehadbeenstandingonherpedestal,stillwithafixedgazetowardsthestranger—sofixedagazethat,atmomentsofintenseabsorption,allotherobjectsinthevisibleworldseemedtovanish,leavingonlyhimandher.Suchaninterview,perhaps,wouldhavebeenmoreterriblethaneventomeethimasshenowdid,withthehotmid-daysunburningdownuponherface,andlightingupitsshame;withthescarlettokenofinfamyonherbreast;withthesin-borninfantinherarms;withawholepeople,drawnforthastoafestival,staringatthefeaturesthatshouldhavebeenseenonlyinthequietgleamofthefireside,inthehappyshadowofahome,orbeneathamatronlyveilatchurch.Dreadfulasitwas,shewasconsciousofashelterinthepresenceofthesethousandwitnesses.Itwasbettertostandthus,withsomanybetwixthimandher,thantogreethimfacetoface—theytwoalone.Shefledforrefuge,asitwere,tothepublicexposure,anddreadedthemomentwhenitsprotectionshouldbewithdrawnfromher.Involvedinthesethoughts,shescarcelyheardavoicebehindheruntilithadrepeatedhernamemorethanonce,inaloudandsolemntone,audibletothewholemultitude.
