an aged handicraftsman, it is true, who had been a citizen
of London at the period of Sir Thomas Overbury's murder, now some
thirty years agone; he testified to having seen the physician, under
some other name, which the narrator of the story had now forgotten, in
company with Doctor Forman, the famous old conjurer, who was
implicated in the affair of Overbury. Two or three individuals hinted,
that the man of skill, during his Indian captivity, had enlarged his
medical attainments by joining in the incantations of the savage
priests; who were universally acknowledged to be powerful enchanters,
often performing seemingly miraculous cures by their skill in the
black art. A large number--and many of these were persons of such
sober sense and practical observation that their opinions would have
been valuable, in other matters--affirmed that Roger Chillingworth's
aspect had undergone a remarkable change while he had dwelt in town,
and especially since his abode with Mr. Dimmesdale. At first, his
expression had been calm, meditative, scholar-like. Now, there was
something ugly and evil in his face, which they had not previously
noticed, and which grew still the more obvious to sight, the oftener
they looked upon him. According to the vulgar idea, the fire in his
laboratory had been brought from the lower regions, and was fed with
infernal fuel; and so, as might be expected, his visage was getting
sooty with the smoke.

To sum up the matter, it grew to be a widely diffused opinion, that
the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, like many other personages of especial
sanctity, in all ages of the Christian world, was haunted either by
Satan himself, or Satan's emissary, in the guise of old Roger
Chillingworth. This diabolical agent had the Divine permission, for a
season, to burrow into the clergyman's intimacy, and plot against his
soul. No sensible man, it was confessed, could doubt on which side the
victory would turn. The people looked, with an unshaken hope, to see
the minister come forth out of the conflict, transfigured with the
glory which he would unquestionably win. Meanwhile, nevertheless, it
was sad to think of the perchance mortal agony through which he must
struggle towards his triumph.

Alas! to judge from the gloom and terror in the depths of the poor
minister's eyes, the battle was a sore one and the victory anything
but secure.

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