Dimsdell. Try how I may, there's no escape from pain.
I robbed the law's strong arm, and thereby put
The lash in conscience' hand—and yet I thought
Hypocrisy a duty to my calling!
'Twere better I were known as what I am,
Than still to hide my sin beneath the garb
Of outward purity! 'Twere better now,
By Hester's side, to bear opprobrium,
And brave what man may do, than still to nurse
This misery in secret!
Re-enter Roger with wine-tray; places it upon a bench and, taking a vial from a pocket medicine-case, pours a few drops into a wine-glass, then fills the glass with wine.
Roger. A minim more would lull him into sleep.
Here is the chance—and here the will—to learn
His secret malady. What holds me back?
Conscience? Tut, tut! It will not harm him!
'Twill do him good to sleep; 'twill do me good
To know the why he clutches at his breast.
I'll do it.
[Pours more from vial.
Sir, drink this off.
Dimsdell. I thank thee, kind physician.
[Drinks.
Roger. Nay, thank me not. Now, take a glass of wine.
[Giving him another glass.