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；