Roger. What act more merciful, more christianlike?
Redeem the reputation of her child,
And to the jeers of fools stop up thine ears;
Enwrap thee in her gentle arms, lay down
Thine aching head upon her tender breast,
[top] And dream thyself in paradise.
Dimsdell. Thou fiend of Hell! I know thee now; thou cam'st
But once in thine own form, and ever since
Hast been too near me in a worser one.
Back to the pit, I say! No more of tempting!
Roger. Art mad? I'm man as thou dost seem to be;
I'm not a fiend.
Dimsdell. What dost thou know?
[Shaking Roger by the shoulders.
Roger. Only this—thou art as cowardly
As thou art lecherous. What! betray
A woman! Desert her in her misery!
Refuse to marry her!
And all the while, cloaked in thy ministry,
Dispense the sacraments of God to children—
How canst thou do it?
Dimsdell. If thou be not Satan, why raise this cloud?
Why vanish from my sight? Yet I did touch him even now—
I'll kill him—Kill, kill, kill—now, now, now—
Roger. In trance again! Help! Help! Help!
Dimsdell becomes rigid; with arm uplifted as if to strike a death blow. His speech thickens, and he stands motionless. Roger supports him.