The Scarlet Letter

The minister left before Hester Prynne and little Pearl. As he went, he looked backward, half expecting to see a faint outline of the mother and child fading into the twilight of the woods. He could not believe that such a big change was actually real. But there was Hester, dressed in her gray robe, still standing beside the tree trunk. A storm had brought the trunk down many years ago, and moss had grown on it so that one day Hester and the minister could sit together and rest from their heavy burdens. Now Pearl was there, too, dancing lightly away from the brook’s edge. When the minister was gone, she had taken her familiar place by her mother’s side. The minister had not fallen asleep and dreamed after all!

To free his mind from the hazy impressions that troubled it, he reminded himself of the plans he and Hester had made for their departure. They had decided that Europe, with its crowds and cities, offered them a better home and hiding place than anywhere in America, with its choice between an Indian dwelling and a few settlements along the coast. Also, the minister’s health could not endure the hardships of life in the woods. His gifts, his refinement, and his education meant he needed to live in a civilized place—the more civilized, the better. As fate would have it, there was a ship at harbor to help them carry out this plan. It was one of those dubious vessels that were common at that time. Without actually breaking laws, they sailed with remarkable irresponsibility. The ship had recently arrived from Spain and would sail for England in three days. Hester Prynne’s self-appointed duties as a Sister of Charity had brought her into contact with the ship’s crew and captain. She could therefore book spots on the ship for two adults and a child, with all the secrecy the circumstances required.