In truth， all through the haunted forest， there couldbe nothing more frightful than the figure of GoodmanBrown. On he flew， among the black pines， brandishinghis staff with frenzied gestures， now giving vent to aninspiration of horrid blasphemy， and now shouting forthsuch laughter， as set all the echoes of the forest laughinglike demons around him. The fiend in his own shape isless hideous， than when he rages in the breast of man.
Thus sped the demoniac on his course， until， quiveringamong the trees， he saw a red light before him， as whenthe felled trunks and branches of a clearing have been seton fire， and throw up their lurid blaze against the sky， atthe hour of midnight. He paused， in a lull of the tempestthat had driven him onward， and heard the swell of whatseemed a hymn， rolling solemnly from a distance， with theweight of many voices. He knew the tune； it was a familiarone in the choir of the village meeting-house. The versedied heavily away， and was lengthened by a chorus， notof human voices， but of all the sounds of the benightedwilderness， pealing in awful harmony together. GoodmanBrown cried out； and his cry was lost to his own ear， by itsunison with the cry of the desert.
In the interval of silence， he stole forward， until thelight glared full upon his eyes. At one extremity of an openspace， hemmed in by the dark wall of the forest， arose arock， bearing some rude， natural resemblance either toan altar or a pulpit， and surrounded by four blazing pines，their tops aflame， their stems untouched， like candles at anevening meeting. The mass of foliage， that had overgrownthe summit of the rock， was all on fire， blazing high intothe night， and fitfully illuminating the whole field. Eachpendent twig and leafy festoon was in a blaze. As the redlight arose and fell， a numerous congregation alternatelyshone forth， then disappeared in shadow， and again grew，as it were， out of the darkness， peopling the heart of thesolitary woods at once.
“A grave and dark-clad company！” quoth GoodmanBrown.
In truth， they were such. Among them， quivering toand-fro， between gloom and splendor， appeared facesthat would be seen， next day， at the council-board ofthe province， and others which， Sabbath after Sabbath，looked devoutly heavenward， and benignantly over thecrowded pews， from the holiest pulpits in the land. Someaffirm， that the lady of the governor was there. At least，there were high dames well known to her， and wivesof honored husbands， and widows， a great multitude，and ancient maidens， all of excellent repute， and fairyoung girls， who trembled lest their mothers shouldespy them. Either the sudden gleams of light， flashingover the obscure field， bedazzled Goodman Brown， orhe recognized a score of the church-members of Salemvillage， famous for their especial sanctity. Good oldDeacon Gookin had arrived， and waited at the skirts ofthat venerable saint， his reverend pastor. But， irreverentlyconsorting with these grave， reputable， and pious people，these elders of the church， these chaste dames and dewyvirgins， there were men of dissolute lives and women ofspotted fame， wretches given over to all mean and filthyvice， and suspected even of horrid crimes. It was strangeto see， that the good shrank not from the wicked， norwere the sinners abashed by the saints. Scattered， also，among their palefaced enemies， were the Indian priests，or powows， who had often scared their native forest withmore hideous incantations than any known to Englishwitchcraft.
“But， where is Faith？” thought Goodman Brown； and， ashope came into his heart， he trembled.
Another verse of the hymn arose， a slow and mournfulstrain， such as the pious love， but joined to words whichexpressed all that our nature can conceive of sin， anddarkly hinted at far more. Unfathomable to mere mortalsis the lore of fiends. Verse after verse was sung， and stillthe chorus of the desert swelled between， like the deepesttone of a mighty organ. And， with the final peal of thatdreadful anthem， there came a sound， as if the roaringwind， the rushing streams， the howling beasts， and everyother voice of the unconverted wilderness， were minglingand according with the voice of guilty man， in homage tothe prince of all. The four blazing pines threw up a loftierflame， and obscurely discovered shapes and visages ofhorror on the smoke-wreaths， above the impious assembly.
At the same moment， the fire on the rock shot redlyforth， and formed a glowing arch above its base， wherenow appeared a figure. With reverence be it spoken， thefigure bore no slight similitude， both in garb and manner，to some grave divine of the New-England churches.
“Bring forth the converts！” cried a voice， that echoedthrough the field and rolled into the forest.
At the word， Goodman Brown stepped forth from theshadow of the trees， and approached the congregation，with whom he felt a loathful brotherhood， by thesympathy of all that was wicked in his heart. He couldhave well nigh sworn， that the shape of his own deadfather beckoned him to advance， looking downwardfrom a smoke-wreath， while a woman， with dim featuresof despair， threw out her hand to warn him back. Wasit his mother？ But he had no power to retreat one step，nor to resist， even in thought， when the minister andgood old Deacon Gookin seized his arms， and led him tothe blazing rock. Thither came also the slender form ofa veiled female， led between Goody Cloyse， that piousteacher of the catechism， and Martha Carrier， who hadreceived the devil’s promise to be queen of hell. A rampanthag was she！ And there stood the proselytes， beneath thecanopy of fire.
