"Yes, and you have put me away from you. I have not been permitted to say that I grieved with my wife," he said, "yet I have grieved with you, Hester--you can shut out the man who has offended you, but you cannot shut out the heart--all these wrong nights and days--all this wretched time, I have been with you, Hester. You cannot exclude my thoughts or my love--you cannot make me forget that you are mine." "I cannot make myself forget it," I said. "No, you do well to taunt me. I know that I belong to you. It has all come true--I feel what is upon me like a chain of iron. I remember your cruel words, when you said 'for ever and ever'--I remember what my father told us--you do not need to repeat my misery to me, I acknowledge it." I saw him start and draw back when I said "my misery," as if it was a pang; but he recovered himself. "For ever and for ever," he repeated, "do you remember that night--Hester, there was no misery in our way that night, and how is it that we are changed? I have sinned against you, and you have punished me. For a whole month now, and it is only two months since our marriage-day, the meanest passenger in the streets has had as much kindness at your hands as I--is this not enough, Hester? can you not forget now this dark episode, and return to what we were? Let me suppose it is again that night--let us return to the time of our betrothal, and being anew. Will you speak to me, Hester?" "We cannot return to the time of our betrothal," said I; "then I was deceived. Now I know, and it is impossible to restore the delusion again." "Was there nothing but delusion?" he said hastily, "was it folly to suppose that you cared for me at all--or is vengeance and not mercy the companion of love?" "I cannot tell," said I, "I am no poet; but if you think it is easier to be wounded to the heart--to be deceived and ruined, and put to shame, by one who is dear to you than by an enemy, I know you are mistaken. If I had not cared for you, I should have had only myself to mourn for, and would have been a light burden." He sank back in his chair for a moment with a look of blank dismay and almost horror. "Deceived and ruined and put to shame!" he repeated. "Hester! what meaning do you put upon these words?" I felt the blood rush to my face, with indignation and shame and nervous excitement. "It is quite true," I said, "you have taken the hope and strength out of my life--is not that ruin? and you have disgraced me in my own eyes--I did not leave my father's home with _you_--you know I did not give either heart or hand to you; but I awake and find that I am your wife--you have disgraced and shamed me to myself. I can only bear contempt and scorn for the deceived and foolish girl whom you have shown to me in her true weakness. I can never hold up my head any more--and by-and-by you will disgrace me to the world."