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                        YOUNG GOODMAN BROWN
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                    <Paragraph TextAlignment="Center" Margin="0 12">
                        by
                        <LineBreak />
                        Nathaniel Hawthorne
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                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6">
                        Young Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem
                        village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshold, to
                        exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was
                        aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the
                        wind play with the pink ribbons of her cap while she called to Goodman
                        Brown.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Dearest heart," whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when her lips
                        were close to his ear, "prithee put off your journey until sunrise and
                        sleep in your own bed to-night. A lone woman is troubled with such
                        dreams and such thoughts that she's afeard of herself sometimes. Pray
                        tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "My love and my Faith," replied young Goodman Brown, "of all nights in
                        the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as
                        thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done 'twixt now
                        and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already,
                        and we but three months married?"
                    </Paragraph>

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                        "Then God bless you!" said Faith, with the pink ribbons; "and may you
                        find all well when you come back."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Amen!" cried Goodman Brown. "Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to
                        bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to
                        turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back and saw the head
                        of Faith still peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her
                        pink ribbons.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Poor little Faith!" thought he, for his heart smote him. "What a
                        wretch am I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dreams, too.
                        Methought as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had
                        warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; 't would kill
                        her to think it. Well, she's a blessed angel on earth; and after this
                        one night I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to heaven."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself
                        justified in making more haste on his present evil purpose. He had
                        taken a dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest,
                        which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, and
                        closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there
                        is this peculiarity in such a solitude, that the traveller knows not
                        who may be concealed by the innumerable trunks and the thick boughs
                        overhead; so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be passing through
                        an unseen multitude.
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                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree," said Goodman Brown
                        to himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him as he added, "What if
                        the devil himself should be at my very elbow!"
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        His head being turned back, he passed a crook of the road, and, looking
                        forward again, beheld the figure of a man, in grave and decent attire,
                        seated at the foot of an old tree. He arose at Goodman Brown's approach
                        and walked onward side by side with him.
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                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "You are late, Goodman Brown," said he. "The clock of the Old South was
                        striking as I came through Boston, and that is full fifteen minutes
                        agone."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Faith kept me back a while," replied the young man, with a tremor in
                        his voice, caused by the sudden appearance of his companion, though not
                        wholly unexpected.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        It was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it
                        where these two were journeying. As nearly as could be discerned, the
                        second traveller was about fifty years old, apparently in the same rank
                        of life as Goodman Brown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to
                        him, though perhaps more in expression than features. Still they might
                        have been taken for father and son. And yet, though the elder person
                        was as simply clad as the younger, and as simple in manner too, he had
                        an indescribable air of one who knew the world, and who would not have
                        felt abashed at the governor's dinner table or in King William's court,
                        were it possible that his affairs should call him thither. But the only
                        thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable was his staff,
                        which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought
                        that it might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself like a living
                        serpent. This, of course, must have been an ocular deception, assisted
                        by the uncertain light.
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                        "Come, Goodman Brown," cried his fellow-traveller, "this is a dull pace
                        for the beginning of a journey. Take my staff, if you are so soon
                        weary."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Friend," said the other, exchanging his slow pace for a full stop,
                        "having kept covenant by meeting thee here, it is my purpose now to
                        return whence I came. I have scruples touching the matter thou wot'st
                        of."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Sayest thou so?" replied he of the serpent, smiling apart. "Let us
                        walk on, nevertheless, reasoning as we go; and if I convince thee not
                        thou shalt turn back. We are but a little way in the forest yet."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Too far! too far!" exclaimed the goodman, unconsciously resuming his
                        walk. "My father never went into the woods on such an errand, nor his
                        father before him. We have been a race of honest men and good
                        Christians since the days of the martyrs; and shall I be the first of
                        the name of Brown that ever took this path and kept&#x2014;"
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Such company, thou wouldst say," observed the elder person,
                        interpreting his pause. "Well said, Goodman Brown! I have been as well
                        acquainted with your family as with ever a one among the Puritans; and
                        that's no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when
                        he lashed the Quaker woman so smartly through the streets of Salem; and
                        it was I that brought your father a pitch-pine knot, kindled at my own
                        hearth, to set fire to an Indian village, in King Philip's war. They
                        were my good friends, both; and many a pleasant walk have we had along
                        this path, and returned merrily after midnight. I would fain be friends
                        with you for their sake."
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                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "If it be as thou sayest," replied Goodman Brown, "I marvel they never
                        spoke of these matters; or, verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least
                        rumor of the sort would have driven them from New England. We are a
                        people of prayer, and good works to boot, and abide no such wickedness."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Wickedness or not," said the traveller with the twisted staff, "I have
                        a very general acquaintance here in New England. The deacons of many a
                        church have drunk the communion wine with me; the selectmen of divers
                        towns make me their chairman; and a majority of the Great and General
                        Court are firm supporters of my interest. The governor and I, too&#x2014;But
                        these are state secrets."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Can this be so?" cried Goodman Brown, with a stare of amazement at his
                        undisturbed companion. "Howbeit, I have nothing to do with the governor
                        and council; they have their own ways, and are no rule for a simple
                        husbandman like me. But, were I to go on with thee, how should I meet
                        the eye of that good old man, our minister, at Salem village? Oh, his
                        voice would make me tremble both Sabbath day and lecture day."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        Thus far the elder traveller had listened with due gravity; but now
                        burst into a fit of irrepressible mirth, shaking himself so violently
                        that his snake-like staff actually seemed to wriggle in sympathy.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Ha! ha! ha!" shouted he again and again; then composing himself,
                        "Well, go on, Goodman Brown, go on; but, prithee, don't kill me with
                        laughing."
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                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Well, then, to end the matter at once," said Goodman Brown,
                        considerably nettled, "there is my wife, Faith. It would break her dear
                        little heart; and I'd rather break my own."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Nay, if that be the case," answered the other, "e'en go thy ways,
                        Goodman Brown. I would not for twenty old women like the one hobbling
                        before us that Faith should come to any harm."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        As he spoke he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, in
                        whom Goodman Brown recognized a very pious and exemplary dame, who had
                        taught him his catechism in youth, and was still his moral and
                        spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister and Deacon Gookin.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "A marvel, truly, that Goody Cloyse should be so far in the wilderness
                        at nightfall," said he. "But with your leave, friend, I shall take a
                        cut through the woods until we have left this Christian woman behind.
                        Being a stranger to you, she might ask whom I was consorting with and
                        whither I was going."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Be it so," said his fellow-traveller. "Betake you to the woods, and
                        let me keep the path."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        Accordingly the young man turned aside, but took care to watch his
                        companion, who advanced softly along the road until he had come within
                        a staff's length of the old dame. She, meanwhile, was making the best
                        of her way, with singular speed for so aged a woman, and mumbling some
                        indistinct words&#x2014;a prayer, doubtless&#x2014;as she went. The traveller put
                        forth his staff and touched her withered neck with what seemed the
                        serpent's tail.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "The devil!" screamed the pious old lady.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Then Goody Cloyse knows her old friend?" observed the traveller,
                        confronting her and leaning on his writhing stick.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Ah, forsooth, and is it your worship indeed?" cried the good dame.
                        "Yea, truly is it, and in the very image of my old gossip, Goodman
                        Brown, the grandfather of the silly fellow that now is. But&#x2014;would your
                        worship believe it?&#x2014;my broomstick hath strangely disappeared, stolen,
                        as I suspect, by that unhanged witch, Goody Cory, and that, too, when I
                        was all anointed with the juice of smallage, and cinquefoil, and wolf's
                        bane."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Mingled with fine wheat and the fat of a new-born babe," said the
                        shape of old Goodman Brown.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Ah, your worship knows the recipe," cried the old lady, cackling
                        aloud. "So, as I was saying, being all ready for the meeting, and no
                        horse to ride on, I made up my mind to foot it; for they tell me there
                        is a nice young man to be taken into communion to-night. But now your
                        good worship will lend me your arm, and we shall be there in a
                        twinkling."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "That can hardly be," answered her friend. "I may not spare you my arm,
                        Goody Cloyse; but here is my staff, if you will."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        So saying, he threw it down at her feet, where, perhaps, it assumed
                        life, being one of the rods which its owner had formerly lent to the
                        Egyptian magi. Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take
                        cognizance. He had cast up his eyes in astonishment, and, looking down
                        again, beheld neither Goody Cloyse nor the serpentine staff, but his
                        fellow-traveller alone, who waited for him as calmly as if nothing had
                        happened.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "That old woman taught me my catechism," said the young man; and there
                        was a world of meaning in this simple comment.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        They continued to walk onward, while the elder traveller exhorted his
                        companion to make good speed and persevere in the path, discoursing so
                        aptly that his arguments seemed rather to spring up in the bosom of his
                        auditor than to be suggested by himself. As they went, he plucked a
                        branch of maple to serve for a walking stick, and began to strip it of
                        the twigs and little boughs, which were wet with evening dew. The
                        moment his fingers touched them they became strangely withered and
                        dried up as with a week's sunshine. Thus the pair proceeded, at a good
                        free pace, until suddenly, in a gloomy hollow of the road, Goodman
                        Brown sat himself down on the stump of a tree and refused to go any
                        farther.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Friend," said he, stubbornly, "my mind is made up. Not another step
                        will I budge on this errand. What if a wretched old woman do choose to
                        go to the devil when I thought she was going to heaven: is that any
                        reason why I should quit my dear Faith and go after her?"
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "You will think better of this by and by," said his acquaintance,
                        composedly. "Sit here and rest yourself a while; and when you feel like
                        moving again, there is my staff to help you along."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        Without more words, he threw his companion the maple stick, and was as
                        speedily out of sight as if he had vanished into the deepening gloom.
                        The young man sat a few moments by the roadside, applauding himself
                        greatly, and thinking with how clear a conscience he should meet the
                        minister in his morning walk, nor shrink from the eye of good old
                        Deacon Gookin. And what calm sleep would be his that very night, which
                        was to have been spent so wickedly, but so purely and sweetly now, in
                        the arms of Faith! Amidst these pleasant and praiseworthy meditations,
                        Goodman Brown heard the tramp of horses along the road, and deemed it
                        advisable to conceal himself within the verge of the forest, conscious
                        of the guilty purpose that had brought him thither, though now so
                        happily turned from it.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        On came the hoof tramps and the voices of the riders, two grave old
                        voices, conversing soberly as they drew near. These mingled sounds
                        appeared to pass along the road, within a few yards of the young man's
                        hiding-place; but, owing doubtless to the depth of the gloom at that
                        particular spot, neither the travellers nor their steeds were visible.
                        Though their figures brushed the small boughs by the wayside, it could
                        not be seen that they intercepted, even for a moment, the faint gleam
                        from the strip of bright sky athwart which they must have passed.
                        Goodman Brown alternately crouched and stood on tiptoe, pulling aside
                        the branches and thrusting forth his head as far as he durst without
                        discerning so much as a shadow. It vexed him the more, because he could
                        have sworn, were such a thing possible, that he recognized the voices
                        of the minister and Deacon Gookin, jogging along quietly, as they were
                        wont to do, when bound to some ordination or ecclesiastical council.
                        While yet within hearing, one of the riders stopped to pluck a switch.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Of the two, reverend sir," said the voice like the deacon's, "I had
                        rather miss an ordination dinner than to-night's meeting. They tell me
                        that some of our community are to be here from Falmouth and beyond, and
                        others from Connecticut and Rhode Island, besides several of the Indian
                        powwows, who, after their fashion, know almost as much deviltry as the
                        best of us. Moreover, there is a goodly young woman to be taken into
                        communion."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Mighty well, Deacon Gookin!" replied the solemn old tones of the
                        minister. "Spur up, or we shall be late. Nothing can be done, you know,
                        until I get on the ground."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        The hoofs clattered again; and the voices, talking so strangely in the
                        empty air, passed on through the forest, where no church had ever been
                        gathered or solitary Christian prayed. Whither, then, could these holy
                        men be journeying so deep into the heathen wilderness? Young Goodman
                        Brown caught hold of a tree for support, being ready to sink down on
                        the ground, faint and overburdened with the heavy sickness of his
                        heart. He looked up to the sky, doubting whether there really was a
                        heaven above him. Yet there was the blue arch, and the stars
                        brightening in it.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "With heaven above and Faith below, I will yet stand firm against the
                        devil!" cried Goodman Brown.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        While he still gazed upward into the deep arch of the firmament and had
                        lifted his hands to pray, a cloud, though no wind was stirring, hurried
                        across the zenith and hid the brightening stars. The blue sky was still
                        visible, except directly overhead, where this black mass of cloud was
                        sweeping swiftly northward. Aloft in the air, as if from the depths of
                        the cloud, came a confused and doubtful sound of voices. Once the
                        listener fancied that he could distinguish the accents of towns-people
                        of his own, men and women, both pious and ungodly, many of whom he had
                        met at the communion table, and had seen others rioting at the tavern.
                        The next moment, so indistinct were the sounds, he doubted whether he
                        had heard aught but the murmur of the old forest, whispering without a
                        wind. Then came a stronger swell of those familiar tones, heard daily
                        in the sunshine at Salem village, but never until now from a cloud of
                        night There was one voice of a young woman, uttering lamentations, yet
                        with an uncertain sorrow, and entreating for some favor, which,
                        perhaps, it would grieve her to obtain; and all the unseen multitude,
                        both saints and sinners, seemed to encourage her onward.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Faith!" shouted Goodman Brown, in a voice of agony and desperation;
                        and the echoes of the forest mocked him, crying, "Faith! Faith!" as if
                        bewildered wretches were seeking her all through the wilderness.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        The cry of grief, rage, and terror was yet piercing the night, when the
                        unhappy husband held his breath for a response. There was a scream,
                        drowned immediately in a louder murmur of voices, fading into far-off
                        laughter, as the dark cloud swept away, leaving the clear and silent
                        sky above Goodman Brown. But something fluttered lightly down through
                        the air and caught on the branch of a tree. The young man seized it,
                        and beheld a pink ribbon.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "My Faith is gone!" cried he, after one stupefied moment. "There is no
                        good on earth; and sin is but a name. Come, devil; for to thee is this
                        world given."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        And, maddened with despair, so that he laughed loud and long, did
                        Goodman Brown grasp his staff and set forth again, at such a rate that
                        he seemed to fly along the forest path rather than to walk or run. The
                        road grew wilder and drearier and more faintly traced, and vanished at
                        length, leaving him in the heart of the dark wilderness, still rushing
                        onward with the instinct that guides mortal man to evil. The whole
                        forest was peopled with frightful sounds&#x2014;the creaking of the trees,
                        the howling of wild beasts, and the yell of Indians; while sometimes
                        the wind tolled like a distant church bell, and sometimes gave a broad
                        roar around the traveller, as if all Nature were laughing him to scorn.
                        But he was himself the chief horror of the scene, and shrank not from
                        its other horrors.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Ha! ha! ha!" roared Goodman Brown when the wind laughed at him.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "Let us hear which will laugh loudest. Think not to frighten me with
                        your deviltry. Come witch, come wizard, come Indian powwow, come devil
                        himself, and here comes Goodman Brown. You may as well fear him as he
                        fear you."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        In truth, all through the haunted forest there could be nothing more
                        frightful than the figure of Goodman Brown. On he flew among the black
                        pines, brandishing his staff with frenzied gestures, now giving vent to
                        an inspiration of horrid blasphemy, and now shouting forth such
                        laughter as set all the echoes of the forest laughing like demons
                        around him. The fiend in his own shape is less hideous than when he
                        rages in the breast of man. Thus sped the demoniac on his course,
                        until, quivering among the trees, he saw a red light before him, as
                        when the felled trunks and branches of a clearing have been set on
                        fire, and throw up their lurid blaze against the sky, at the hour of
                        midnight. He paused, in a lull of the tempest that had driven him
                        onward, and heard the swell of what seemed a hymn, rolling solemnly
                        from a distance with the weight of many voices. He knew the tune; it
                        was a familiar one in the choir of the village meeting-house. The verse
                        died heavily away, and was lengthened by a chorus, not of human voices,
                        but of all the sounds of the benighted wilderness pealing in awful
                        harmony together. Goodman Brown cried out, and his cry was lost to his
                        own ear by its unison with the cry of the desert.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        In the interval of silence he stole forward until the light glared full
                        upon his eyes. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed in by the dark
                        wall of the forest, arose a rock, bearing some rude, natural
                        resemblance either to an altar or a pulpit, and surrounded by four
                        blazing pines, their tops aflame, their stems untouched, like candles
                        at an evening meeting. The mass of foliage that had overgrown the
                        summit of the rock was all on fire, blazing high into the night and
                        fitfully illuminating the whole field. Each pendent twig and leafy
                        festoon was in a blaze. As the red light arose and fell, a numerous
                        congregation alternately shone forth, then disappeared in shadow, and
                        again grew, as it were, out of the darkness, peopling the heart of the
                        solitary woods at once.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "A grave and dark-clad company," quoth Goodman Brown.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        In truth they were such. Among them, quivering to and fro between gloom
                        and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen next day at the council
                        board of the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked
                        devoutly heavenward, and benignantly over the crowded pews, from the
                        holiest pulpits in the land. Some affirm that the lady of the governor
                        was there. At least there were high dames well known to her, and wives
                        of honored husbands, and widows, a great multitude, and ancient
                        maidens, all of excellent repute, and fair young girls, who trembled
                        lest their mothers should espy them. Either the sudden gleams of light
                        flashing over the obscure field bedazzled Goodman Brown, or he
                        recognized a score of the church members of Salem village famous for
                        their especial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waited
                        at the skirts of that venerable saint, his revered pastor. But,
                        irreverently consorting with these grave, reputable, and pious people,
                        these elders of the church, these chaste dames and dewy virgins, there
                        were men of dissolute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given
                        over to all mean and filthy vice, and suspected even of horrid crimes.
                        It was strange to see that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor
                        were the sinners abashed by the saints. Scattered also among their
                        pale-faced enemies were the Indian priests, or powwows, who had often
                        scared their native forest with more hideous incantations than any
                        known to English witchcraft.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        "But where is Faith?" thought Goodman Brown; and, as hope came into his
                        heart, he trembled.
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        Another verse of the hymn arose, a slow and mournful strain, such as
                        the pious love, but joined to words which expressed all that our nature
                        can conceive of sin, and darkly hinted at far more. Unfathomable to
                        mere mortals is the lore of fiends. Verse after verse was sung; and
                        still the chorus of the desert swelled between like the deepest tone of
                        a mighty organ; and with the final peal of that dreadful anthem there
                        came a sound, as if the roaring wind, the rushing streams, the howling
                        beasts, and every other voice of the unconcerted wilderness were
                        mingling and according with the voice of guilty man in homage to the
                        prince of all. The four blazing pines threw up a loftier flame, and
                        obscurely discovered shapes and visages of horror on the smoke wreaths
                        above the impious assembly. At the same moment the fire on the rock
                        shot redly forth and formed a glowing arch above its base, where now
                        appeared a figure. With reverence be it spoken, the figure bore no
                        slight similitude, both in garb and manner, to some grave divine of the
                        New England churches.
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                        "Bring forth the converts!" cried a voice that echoed through the field
                        and rolled into the forest.
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                        At the word, Goodman Brown stepped forth from the shadow of the trees
                        and approached the congregation, with whom he felt a loathful
                        brotherhood by the sympathy of all that was wicked in his heart. He
                        could have well-nigh sworn that the shape of his own dead father
                        beckoned him to advance, looking downward from a smoke wreath, while a
                        woman, with dim features of despair, threw out her hand to warn him
                        back. Was it his mother? But he had no power to retreat one step, nor
                        to resist, even in thought, when the minister and good old Deacon
                        Gookin seized his arms and led him to the blazing rock. Thither came
                        also the slender form of a veiled female, led between Goody Cloyse,
                        that pious teacher of the catechism, and Martha Carrier, who had
                        received the devil's promise to be queen of hell. A rampant hag was
                        she. And there stood the proselytes beneath the canopy of fire.
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                        "Welcome, my children," said the dark figure, "to the communion of your
                        race. Ye have found thus young your nature and your destiny. My
                        children, look behind you!"
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                        They turned; and flashing forth, as it were, in a sheet of flame, the
                        fiend worshippers were seen; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on
                        every visage.
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                        "There," resumed the sable form, "are all whom ye have reverenced from
                        youth. Ye deemed them holier than yourselves, and shrank from your own
                        sin, contrasting it with their lives of righteousness and prayerful
                        aspirations heavenward. Yet here are they all in my worshipping
                        assembly. This night it shall be granted you to know their secret
                        deeds: how hoary-bearded elders of the church have whispered wanton
                        words to the young maids of their households; how many a woman, eager
                        for widows' weeds, has given her husband a drink at bedtime and let him
                        sleep his last sleep in her bosom; how beardless youths have made haste
                        to inherit their fathers' wealth; and how fair damsels&#x2014;blush not,
                        sweet ones&#x2014;have dug little graves in the garden, and bidden me, the
                        sole guest to an infant's funeral. By the sympathy of your human hearts
                        for sin ye shall scent out all the places&#x2014;whether in church,
                        bedchamber, street, field, or forest&#x2014;where crime has been committed,
                        and shall exult to behold the whole earth one stain of guilt, one
                        mighty blood spot. Far more than this. It shall be yours to penetrate,
                        in every bosom, the deep mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicked
                        arts, and which inexhaustibly supplies more evil impulses than human
                        power&#x2014;than my power at its utmost&#x2014;can make manifest in deeds. And
                        now, my children, look upon each other."
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                        They did so; and, by the blaze of the hell-kindled torches, the
                        wretched man beheld his Faith, and the wife her husband, trembling
                        before that unhallowed altar.
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                        "Lo, there ye stand, my children," said the figure, in a deep and
                        solemn tone, almost sad with its despairing awfulness, as if his once
                        angelic nature could yet mourn for our miserable race. "Depending upon
                        one another's hearts, ye had still hoped that virtue were not all a
                        dream. Now are ye undeceived. Evil is the nature of mankind. Evil must
                        be your only happiness. Welcome again, my children, to the communion of
                        your race."
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                        "Welcome," repeated the fiend worshippers, in one cry of despair and
                        triumph.
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                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        And there they stood, the only pair, as it seemed, who were yet
                        hesitating on the verge of wickedness in this dark world. A basin was
                        hollowed, naturally, in the rock. Did it contain water, reddened by the
                        lurid light? or was it blood? or, perchance, a liquid flame? Herein did
                        the shape of evil dip his hand and prepare to lay the mark of baptism
                        upon their foreheads, that they might be partakers of the mystery of
                        sin, more conscious of the secret guilt of others, both in deed and
                        thought, than they could now be of their own. The husband cast one look
                        at his pale wife, and Faith at him. What polluted wretches would the
                        next glance show them to each other, shuddering alike at what they
                        disclosed and what they saw!
                    </Paragraph>

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                        "Faith! Faith!" cried the husband, "look up to heaven, and resist the
                        wicked one."
                    </Paragraph>

                    <Paragraph Margin="0 6" TextIndent="48">
                        Whether Faith obeyed he knew not. Hardly had he spoken when he found
                        himself amid calm night and solitude, listening to a roar of the wind
                        which died heavily away through the forest. He staggered against the
                        rock, and felt it chill and damp; while a hanging twig, that had been
                        all on fire, besprinkled his cheek with the coldest dew.
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                        The next morning young Goodman Brown came slowly into the street of
                        Salem village, staring around him like a bewildered man. The good old
                        minister was taking a walk along the graveyard to get an appetite for
                        breakfast and meditate his sermon, and bestowed a blessing, as he
                        passed, on Goodman Brown. He shrank from the venerable saint as if to
                        avoid an anathema. Old Deacon Gookin was at domestic worship, and the
                        holy words of his prayer were heard through the open window. "What God
                        doth the wizard pray to?" quoth Goodman Brown. Goody Cloyse, that
                        excellent old Christian, stood in the early sunshine at her own
                        lattice, catechizing a little girl who had brought her a pint of
                        morning's milk. Goodman Brown snatched away the child as from the grasp
                        of the fiend himself. Turning the corner by the meeting-house, he spied
                        the head of Faith, with the pink ribbons, gazing anxiously forth, and
                        bursting into such joy at sight of him that she skipped along the
                        street and almost kissed her husband before the whole village. But
                        Goodman Brown looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on
                        without a greeting.
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                        Had Goodman Brown fallen asleep in the forest and only dreamed a wild
                        dream of a witch-meeting?
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                        Be it so if you will; but, alas! it was a dream of evil omen for young
                        Goodman Brown. A stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if
                        not a desperate man did he become from the night of that fearful dream.
                        On the Sabbath day, when the congregation were singing a holy psalm, he
                        could not listen because an anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear
                        and drowned all the blessed strain. When the minister spoke from the
                        pulpit with power and fervid eloquence, and, with his hand on the open
                        Bible, of the sacred truths of our religion, and of saint-like lives
                        and triumphant deaths, and of future bliss or misery unutterable, then
                        did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading lest the roof should thunder down
                        upon the gray blasphemer and his hearers. Often, waking suddenly at
                        midnight, he shrank from the bosom of Faith; and at morning or
                        eventide, when the family knelt down at prayer, he scowled and muttered
                        to himself, and gazed sternly at his wife, and turned away. And when he
                        had lived long, and was borne to his grave a hoary corpse, followed by
                        Faith, an aged woman, and children and grandchildren, a goodly
                        procession, besides neighbors not a few, they carved no hopeful verse
                        upon his tombstone, for his dying hour was gloom.
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