exceeding vileness and sinfulness. One night in early May, driven by
remorse, and still indulging in the mockery of repentance, the minister
sought the scaffold, where Hester Prynne had stood. The town was all
asleep. There was no peril of discovery. And yet his vigil was surprised
by Hester and her daughter, returning from a death-bed in the town, and
presently by Roger Chillingworth himself.

"Who is that man?" gasped Mr. Dimmesdale, in terror. "I shiver at him,
Hester. Canst thou do nothing for me? I have a nameless horror of the
man!"

Hester remembered her promise and was silent.

"Worthy sir," said the physician, when he had advanced to the foot of
the platform, "pious Master Dimmesdale! Can this be you? Come, good sir,
I pray you, let me lead you home! You should study less, or these
night-whimseys will grow upon you."

"I will go home with you," said Mr. Dimmesdale.

And now Hester Prynne resolved to do what might be in her power for the
victim whom she saw in her former husband's grip. An opportunity soon
occurred when she met the old physician stooping in quest of roots to
concoct his medicines.

"When we last spake together," said Hester, "you bound me to secrecy
touching our former relations. But now I must reveal the secret. He must
discern thee in thy true character. What may be the result I know not.
So far as concerns the overthrow or preservation of his fair fame and
his earthly state, and perchance his life, he is in thy hands. Nor do