_Dimsdell._ I'm very weak. The pain about my heart--

_Roger._ Nay, courage, man! 'Twill leave thee soon. I'll get a cup of wine to cheer thee up.

_Dimsdell._ Do, I pray. And, Doctor, give me something to abate this agony.

_Roger._ I will. [_Exit._

_Dimsdell._ Try how I may, there's no escape from pain.

I robbed the law's strong arm, and thereby put The lash in conscience' hand--and yet I thought Hypocrisy a duty to my calling!

'Twere better I were known as what I am, Than still to hide my sin beneath the garb Of outward purity! 'Twere better now, By Hester's side, to bear opprobrium, And brave what man may do, than still to nurse This misery in secret!

_Re-enter ROGER with wine-tray; places it upon a bench and, taking a vial from a pocket medicine-case, pours a few drops into a wine-gla.s.s, then fills the gla.s.s with wine._

_Roger._ A minim more would lull him into sleep.

Here is the chance--and here the will--to learn His secret malady. What holds me back?

Conscience? Tut, tut! It will not harm him!

'Twill do him good to sleep; 'twill do me good To know the why he clutches at his breast.

I'll do it. [_Pours more from vial._ Sir, drink this off.

_Dimsdell._ I thank thee, kind physician. [_Drinks._

_Roger._ Nay, thank me not. Now, take a gla.s.s of wine.

[_Giving him another gla.s.s._

_Dimsdell._ Methinks, the wine is richer than is common.

_Roger._ Thirst always gives an added age to wine.

This is right Xeres. Hast been in Spain?

_Dimsdell._ Nay, but the wine hath. I feel its warmth.

_Roger._ Truly, it is a grand inquisitor; 'Twill search each petty heresy that taints Thy blood, and burn it to a cinder.

_Dimsdell._ How many leagues it came to serve my need.

_Roger._ Aye, a thousand, and a thousand more!

_Dimsdell._ I would not go so far for it just now, For through my limbs there creeps a lang'rous ease Like that which doth precede deep slumber.

_Roger._ Rest here upon this bench. [_Dimsdell sits, half reclining._ Give way unto your drowsiness; it is Not sleep, but rest and relaxation. There!

I'll keep you company.

_Dimsdell._ Do.

_Roger._ [_Pouring wine and drinking._] This wine is liquid gold.

I quaff to your good health and ease of mind.

This is good wine. It warms my chilly blood With all the dreamy heat of Spain. I hear The clack of th' castinet and th' droning tw.a.n.g Of stringed instruments; while there before Mine eyes brown, yielding beauties dance in time To the pulsing music of a saraband!

And yet there is a flavor of the sea, [_Sipping wine._ The long-drawn heaving of the ocean wave, The gentle cradling of a tropic tide; Its native golden sun--I fear you sleep?

Or do the travels of the wine so rock Your soul that self is lost in revery?

Why, man, dream not too much of placid bliss; Nor wine, nor man, can reach this clear perfection Until they pa.s.s the rack of thunder and Of hurricane.--'Tis on us now! Awake! [_Shouting in Dimsdell's ear._ My friend, awake! Dost thou not hear the storm?

Oh! how it shrieks and whistles through the shrouds!

The awful guns of heaven boom in our ears-- Nay, that was the mainsail gone by the board, Flapping with cannon roar.

You do not follow me. O, come, I say!

This is no sermon. You cannot be asleep, Yet feign you are to cheat me of my story.

Wake up, my friend. You carry the jest too far.

_Roger cautiously shakes Dimsdell._

So soon! So sound! [_Looks around._ I fear you are not easy; thus. That's better.

Your pardon, sir, your collar's much too tight.

Now will I steal his hidden mystery, And learn the secret of his lengthened pain; Cure him and gain great honor. To think a man Would case himself in b.u.t.tons like an armour!

Now, shirt---- Merciful G.o.d! what miracle is this!

A stigma! Aye! a stigma! the letter "A"

In blood suffused! The counterpart of that Which Hester wears, but palpitating here In life! This is beyond my skill.

Ah! David! David! Thou art the man! Thou wouldst Have set me in the hot forefront of battle Hadst thou but known me as Uriah!

Bah!

Why, what a brainless dullard have I been, To see this pretty puff-ball of a preacher Wax large before mine eyes in righteous husk-- And think him whole within--when but a touch, But one, had aired his rottenness!

Oh! dotard that I am! blind, deaf and stupid!

It takes a miracle to make me see What lay before me open. He did take Her part; ever professed himself her friend; And at her trial fell in trance. What more?

He is the man! He is the man!

Now ends our game of hoodman blind; oh, I Was warm, so very warm at times, so hot, Did almost touch thee; yet I knew thee not For him I sought. Thou cunning hypocrite!

It must be I am fitted to my state, Dull, trusting and incapable; Or else--why surely I'm a fool.-- Had I been here when Hester bore her child, I would have fondly dreamed it was mine own; Put on the unearned pride that old men wear When their young wives bear children.

A pretty baby, sir! My grandchild?--No; Mine own; my very own! Nay, wrong me not; I'm not so old--not so d.a.m.ned old after all!

A ghe! a ghoo! Are not the eyes like mine?-- Yea, would have dandled it upon my knee, And coddled each succeeding drop, as though My fires had distilled them.

But--now I know--my knowledge must be hid.

Back shirt! cover blazoned infamy And let the whited front still hide from man The sepulchre of crime that festers here.

He will not wake within an hour. I'll go Inform the Governor he sleeps, and have Him order none disturb his pious rest.

Then I'll return and calmly probe his soul.

Sleep on! Sleep on! [_Exit Roger._

SCENE II.--_Another part of the garden. Enter alone, DIGGORY._

_Diggory._ If there be no true charm but it hath a touch of folly in it, this one must be most potent. Now a wise man would not think there's that virtue in a bit of grease, a jingling rhyme, and a hair cut, that one might thereby win a woman's love--but the wise are fools in love. I have here the lard of three bears--one more than the old adage of "bear and forbear"--and with it I am to anoint my head as an enchantment to bring about my marriage to Betsey--marry, I'll temper the strength of the charm with a little bergamot, for in truth two of the bears have been dead over-long. Whew!--Aha!

enchantment is the only highway to success in love! Now let me see: "Lady love, lady love, where'er you be"--

_Betsey._ [_Singing behind the scenes_]

_Little bird, little bird, come tell me true; If I love my love, as your love loves you, And if he loves me, as you love your mate; How long, little bird, should I make him wait?_

_Diggory._ That's Betsey singing now! If the charm works like this, bear fat will be worth its weight in gold. But perhaps my features may have pleased her after all--I'm not bad to look upon; and truly I would save my hair; it's the best part about me. Singing again.

_Betsey._ [_Singing behind the scenes_]

_In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide, O, what can a maiden do, If, while he walks close by her side, Her lover begins to woo?_

_Diggory._ Now I wonder where she learnt all those profane songs?

From some liberal folk in the old country, no doubt; they ill become a puritan. If she were a little slower in her speech, what an angel she would be! As it is, she is a very good woman, tongue and all.