And there they stood, the only pair, as it seemed, who were yet
hesitating on the verge of wickedness in this dark world. A basin
was hollowed, naturally, in the rock. Did it contain water,
reddened by the lurid light? or was it blood? or, perchance, a
liquid flame? Herein did the shape of evil dip his hand and
prepare to lay the mark of baptism upon their foreheads, that
they might be partakers of the mystery of sin, more conscious of
the secret guilt of others, both in deed and thought, than they
could now be of their own. The husband cast one look at his pale
wife, and Faith at him. What polluted wretches would the next
glance show them to each other, shuddering alike at what they
disclosed and what they saw!

"Faith! Faith!" cried the husband, "look up to heaven, and resist
the wicked one."

Whether Faith obeyed he knew not. Hardly had he spoken when he
found himself amid calm night and solitude, listening to a roar
of the wind which died heavily away through the forest. He
staggered against the rock, and felt it chill and damp; while a
hanging twig, that had been all on fire, besprinkled his cheek
with the coldest dew.

The next morning young Goodman Brown came slowly into the street
of Salem village, staring around him like a bewildered man. The
good old minister was taking a walk along the graveyard to get an
appetite for breakfast and meditate his sermon, and bestowed a
blessing, as he passed, on Goodman Brown. He shrank from the
venerable saint as if to avoid an anathema. Old Deacon Gookin was