Him in hypocrisy. For, Hester, you,
Who know his weaknesses and aspirations,
His station in his calling, his place in life
Among us, will be a party to deception
If now you hide his name.

_Hester._ I answer to my God. No man shall know
That which is only known to me and him.
But speak thou on his crime!

_Dimsdell._ Ho! all ye people of the commonwealth!
Behold!--let him confess!--O, Hester! speak!--
I see--no more-- [_Dimsdell falls._

_Throng, confused and amazed, closes around Dimsdell.
Cries of horror and apprehension._

_Governor._ Look to our brother Dimsdell. He faints;
The heat hath overcome him.

_Roger._ I am a doctor. Make room!
The falling sickness. Give us breathing space!

_Governor._ Hester, thou art discharged. Let all go home! [_Exeunt._

ACT II.

SCENE I.--_Interior of Hester's home. Furniture Dutch-English,
comfortable and handsome. Windows draped in scarlet-fringed curtains
with scarlet cross-cords, simulating the letter "A." Rich needle
work in the hangings and other accessories. A cradle L., near it a
table with a quarto Bible. HESTER discovered bending over cradle,
then sits R.C. and takes up a piece of embroidery (the letter "A" in
scarlet on a dark background)._

_Hester._ God bless the little darling, how she sleeps!
Had I but thought that all my heart would beat
Within the tender compass of her arms,
I had not prayed she might not be. But now,
Although unasked she came, unasked she brought
A wealth of love and blessing to my soul.

[_Sits and embroiders._]

Thus Providence, although it pierce the heart,
Works into it some glorious design;
Which on this under side of life is blurred,
Thread over thread in infinite confusion.
Or, if we are not made of firmest texture,
The work pulls through, or tears an ugly rent,
Or gathers up our woof in meshy tangles.
This is a world of worn and fretted ends,
Knit in a maze of fearful intricacy,
Wherein we see no meaning. Nor can we know
The hidden shuttles of Eternity,
That weave the endless web of living, loving,
And begetting, whereby a filament
Of earth takes on the likeness of an angel.
The primal burden of our race-existence,
Mankind's perpetual perpetuation,
Weighs on weak womanhood; we bear the race
And all its natural ills, yet still our fellows,
Who proudly call themselves our lords and