A New England holiday was at hand, the public celebration of the
election of a new governor, and the Rev. Arthur Dimmesdale was to preach
the election sermon.

Hester had taken berths in a vessel that was about to sail; and then, on
the very day of holiday, the shipmaster told her that Roger
Chillingworth had also taken a berth in the same vessel.

Hester said nothing, but turned away, and waited in the crowded
market-place beside the pillory with Pearl, while the procession
re-formed after public worship. The street and the market-place
absolutely bubbled with applause of the minister, whose sermon had
surpassed all previous utterances.

At that moment Arthur Dimmesdale stood on the proudest eminence to which
a New England clergyman could be exalted. The minister, surrounded by
the leading men of the town, halted at the scaffold, and, turning
towards it, cried, "Hester, come hither! Come, my little Pearl!"

Leaning on Hester's shoulder, the minister, with the child's hand in
his, slowly ascended the scaffold steps.

"Is not this better," he murmured, "than what we dreamed of in the
forest? For, Hester, I am a dying man. So let me make haste to take my
shame upon me."

"I know not. I know not."

"Better? Yea; so we may both die, and little Pearl die with us."