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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;