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al city； while looking thitherwardto see the triumphant pilgrim pass within its gates… now； in short；good Father Wilson was moving homeward； aiding his footsteps with alighted lantern！ The glimmer of this luminary suggested the aboveconceits to Mr。 Dimmesdale； who smiled… nay； almost laughed at them…and then wondered if he were going mad。 As the Reverend Mr。 Wilson passed beside the scaffold； closelymuffling his Geneva cloak about him with one arm； and holding thelantern before his breast with the other； the minister could hardlyrestrain himself from speaking。 〃A good evening to you； venerable Father Wilson！ e up hither； Ipray you； and pass a pleasant hour with me！〃 Good heavens！ Had Mr。 Dimmesdale actually spoken？ For one instant；he believed that these words had passed his lips。 But they wereuttered only within his imagination。 The venerable Father Wilsoncontinued to step slowly onward； looking carefully at the muddypathway before his feet； and never once turning his head toward theguilty platform。 When the light of the glimmering lantern had fadedquite away； the minister discovered； by the faintness which cameover him； that the last few moments had been a crisis of terribleanxiety； although his mind had made an involuntary effort to relieveitself by a kind of lurid playfulness。 Shortly afterwards； the like grisly sense of the humorous againstole in among the solemn phantoms of his thought。 He felt his limbsgrowing stiff with the unaccustomed chilliness of the night； anddoubted whether he should be able to descend the steps of thescaffold。 Morning would break； and find him there。 The neighbourhoodwould begin to rouse itself。 The earliest riser； ing forth in thedim twilight； would perceive a vaguely defined figure aloft on theplace of shame； and； half crazed bet
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