Червона літера

           Itwasinexpressiblysad—thenwhatdepthofsorrowtoamother,whofeltinherownheartthecause—toobserve,inonesoyoung,thisconstantrecognitionofanadverseworld,andsofierceatrainingoftheenergiesthatweretomakegoodhercauseinthecontestthatmustensue.

           GazingatPearl,HesterPrynneoftendroppedherworkuponherknees,andcriedoutwithanagonywhichshewouldfainhavehidden,butwhichmadeutteranceforitselfbetwixtspeechandagroan—"OFatherinHeaven—ifThouartstillmyFather—whatisthisbeingwhichIhavebroughtintotheworld?"AndPearl,overhearingtheejaculation,orawarethroughsomemoresubtilechannel,ofthosethrobsofanguish,wouldturnhervividandbeautifullittlefaceuponhermother,smilewithsprite-likeintelligence,andresumeherplay.

           Onepeculiarityofthechild’sdeportmentremainsyettobetold.Theveryfirstthingwhichshehadnoticedinherlife,was—what?—notthemother’ssmile,respondingtoit,asotherbabiesdo,bythatfaint,embryosmileofthelittlemouth,rememberedsodoubtfullyafterwards,andwithsuchfonddiscussionwhetheritwereindeedasmile.