“In the attitude in which she bent from her horse, which was a Highland pony, her face, not perhaps altogether unwillingly, touched mine. She pressed my hand, while the tear that trembled in her eye found its way to my cheek instead of her own. It was a moment never to be forgotten,—inexpressibly bitter, yet mixed with a sensation of pleasure so deeply soothing and affecting as at once to unlock all the floodgates of the heart. It was _but_ a moment, however; for, instantly recovering from the feeling to which she had involuntarily given way, she intimated to her companion she was ready to attend him, and, putting their horses to a brisk pace, they were soon far distant from the place where I stood. “Heaven knows, it was not apathy which loaded my frame and my tongue so much that I could neither return Miss Vernon’s half embrace, nor even answer her farewell. The word, though it rose to my tongue, seemed to choke in my throat, like the fatal _guilty_, which the delinquent who makes it his plea knows must be followed by the doom of death. The surprise, the sorrow, almost stupefied me. I remained motionless, with the packet in my hand, gazing after them, as if endeavoring to count the sparkles which flew from the horses’ hoofs. I continued to look after even these had ceased to be visible, and to listen for their footsteps long after the last distant trampling had died in my ears. At length, tears rushed to my eyes, glazed as they were by the exertion of straining after what was no longer to be seen. I wiped them mechanically and almost without being aware that they were flowing, but they came thicker and thicker; I felt the tightening of the throat and breast,—the _hysterica passio_ of poor Lear,—and, sitting down by the wayside, I shed a flood of the first and most bitter tears which had flowed from my eyes since childhood.” * * * * * The admirers of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Scarlet Letter” will not forget the caprices of little Pearl. “‘Dost thou know thy mother now, child?’ asked Hester, reproachfully, but with a subdued tone. ‘Wilt thou come across the brook and own thy mother, now that she has her shame upon her, now that she is sad?’ “‘Yes, now I will!’ answered the child, bounding across the brook and clasping Hester in her arms. ‘Now thou art my mother indeed! and I am thy little Pearl!’ “In a mood of tenderness that was not usual with her, she drew down her mother’s head and kissed her brow and both her cheeks. But then, by a kind of necessity that always impelled this child to alloy whatever comfort she might chance to give with a throb of anguish, Pearl put up her mouth and kissed the scarlet letter too! “‘That was not kind,’ said Hester. ‘When thou hast shown me a little love, thou mockest me!’”