The Reverend Mister Wilson, a Good Father, and Pass a Pleasant Hour With Me

Mister dimmesdale wondered if he were going mad. He felt his limbs growing stiff with the unaccustomed chilliness of the night, and doubted whether he should be able to descend the steps of the scaffold. Morning would break and find him there. The earliest riser, coming forth in the dim twilight, would perceive a vaguely defined figure aloft on the place of shame. And half crazed betwixt alarm and curiosity, would go knocking from door to door, summoning all the people to behold the ghost,. as he needs must think it of some defunct trans gressor.