• June 1, 1640
    I could bear no longer to look at her face, lest the truth effluence itself onto the multitude of spectators. The lurid lustre of her face-though greatly ponderous in thought-and the luxuriant locks that framed it, I imagined it to be contrasted against the pallid and tremulous physiognomy of mine own, not to mention the harsh and deleterious demeanor of those who bore witness to this infamy. Though-and much as I tried to repress these emotions and memories from the surface of my thoughts, especially during this time-I could not help but recall that moment of sinful, reckless passion that had tied together our fates into this wretched knot, which nothing and no one could possibly attempt to undo. And there-yes, right there, on the bosom of the transgressor- lay cradled the living, breathing consequence of our conjoined iniquity, which I, once more, could not bear to turn my countenance upon for fear of that truth-no longer able to contain that powerful urge to purge itself of the large burden that weighed upon it's shoulders- would manifest and reveal itself as a dark and deceitful shadow cast upon my face to all those who revered myself as a venerable divine! Even as I shut my eyes, the illuminated scarlet flame was burnt into their darkness, unable to be erased no matter how much effort I put into trying to shut it out. It was as if she and I were the only ones standing on these gallows, the only ones falling into this obscure abyss, the only two people who could see that invisible line that tied us together and formed that ball of knots that grew only larger with each feigned word that escaped from my mouth as I told her to speak the name of the one who defiled her soul. In all the vivacity of my surroundings, the only voice I could hear was Hester's importunate voice; the only face I could see was Hester's illuminated face; and no matter where I turned-no matter where I tried to hide that shameful and pitiful countenance that adorned my face-there she was, staring deep into my troubled eyes with her potent-yet, strangely and simultaneously pacifying- ones, as if to say “I see you, Arthur Dimmesdale, do not forget me and what we did!” I transfixed my gaze upon the stigma of our sin-so as to divert my eyes from those knowing ones-and continued to bury that truth further into that knot with my words.
    Arthur Dimmesdale