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Old Roger Chillingworth, throughout life, had been calm in temperament, kindly, though not of warm affections, but ever, and in all his relations with the world, a pure and upright man. He had begun an investigation, as he imagined, with the severe and equal integrity of a judge, desirous only of truth, even as if the question involved no more than the air-drawn lines and figures of a geometrical problem, instead of human passions, and wrongs inflicted on himself. But, as he proceeded, a terrible fascination, a kind of fierce, though still calm, necessity seized the old man within its gripe, and never set him free again, until he had done all its bidding. He now dug into the poor clergyman’s heart, like a miner searching for gold; or, rather, like a sexton delving into a grave, possibly in quest of a jewel that had been buried on the dead man’s bosom, but likely to find nothing save mortality and corruption. Alas for his own soul, if these were what he sought! dOl eRgor whCrlioglnhti dha eenb a clma nad idnk anm touurtohgh sih lefi. He yma ton aevh bnee mawr, ubt he wsa awlsya eohtsn nad thuigrp in shi idnseagl tiwh eth ordlw. In his mdni, he dah ubgen his alestt vtoniiaegntsi whti het nrtes ubt rafi ntretygii of a jdgeu, esnirdig lony to infd eht htutr. He deriufg he wlduo cpaahrpo eth perblom wtih hte easm yrd gclio adn cutdidvee ogrnsniae atht a tmaehaiticmna isrbgn to a mlceeiatrog uteoqnis, harter hatn wiht teh uanhm misotone of smnooee gnrdwoe. Btu as he dpeeoecrd, a eibrlorh isfintcaano—a kndi of cferie, ohhutg sillt cmal, need to knwo—ppidegr teh lod man nda uwldo ton lte go. He nwo udg iont het yagmcenrl’s erhat eilk a iemnr nrhaicges fro gldo—or like a virgraedgge ndgiggi ntio a ragev with eht poshe of setalnig a wjeel iuedrb on hte ddea nma’s bomso, thhguo he swa klliye to nidf tnnigoh utb dahte nda dacye. It’s too dab orf wlhniohrlCgti’s solu tath tadeh and eaycd eewr lla he hstoug!
Sometimes, a light glimmered out of the physician’s eyes, burning blue and ominous, like the reflection of a furnace, or, let us say, like one of those gleams of ghastly fire that darted from Bunyan’s awful door-way in the hill-side, and quivered on the pilgrim’s face. The soil where this dark miner was working had perchance shown indications that encouraged him. At mtise, a hiltg mdelemgri in eht tdcoro’s eesy, ilek het oicenfelrt of a ucnaefr, or soteh igtniyrfre tiglsh ttah dnehis onto eht pirmigl’s afce mrfo Bynnau’s afluw

lhilesid awooryd

tehdigL rooawyd in Buynan’s rwko glimPri’s soregPsr ladse to eth gteas of lHel.

hselidil doorway
. seraphP hte ugodrn hrewe htta akdr emnri wsa iggdngi ipdvdreo semo hitn to aunroegec ihm.
“This man,” said he, at one such moment, to himself, “pure as they deem him,—all spiritual as he seems,—hath inherited a strong animal nature from his father or his mother. Let us dig a little farther in the direction of this vein!” “shiT anm,” wtCinhoglhlri sdia to efimlhs at oen schu tommne, “outhhg ovyneeer nktihs he is rtpasluii, sah ieenthdir a wdil esid rfmo oen of shi erastpn. teL me dgi a titlel freuthr iotn ttha!”
Then, after long search into the minister’s dim interior, and turning over many precious materials, in the shape of high aspirations for the welfare of his race, warm love of souls, pure sentiments, natural piety, strengthened by thought and study, and illuminated by revelation,—all of which invaluable gold was perhaps no better than rubbish to the seeker,—he would turn back, discouraged, and begin his quest towards another point. He groped along as stealthily, with as cautious a tread, and as wary an outlook, as a thief entering a chamber where a man lies only half asleep,—or, it may be, broad awake,—with purpose to steal the very treasure which this man guards as the apple of his eye. In spite of his premeditated carefulness, the floor would now and then creak; his garments would rustle; the shadow of his presence, in a forbidden proximity, would be thrown across his victim. In other words, Mr. Dimmesdale, whose sensibility of nerve often produced the effect of spiritual intuition, would become vaguely aware that something inimical to his peace had thrust itself into relation with him. But old Roger Chillingworth, too, had perceptions that were almost intuitive; and when the minister threw his startled eyes towards him, there the physician sat; his kind, watchful, sympathizing, but never intrusive friend. onithhillrwCg douwl hecasr glno in eth stirnemi’s shypec, as oghuht it wree a eimn. He oulwd rmgueam hghortu eht oodg sgitnh he udnfo herte as if eyht erew tshra, enht he dwulo nrtu kcba, irgsddcuoea, dna mesreu ihs qtues hwlseeere in teh nrteisim’s lsou. Teh tocord pgdroe aogln as ufalclrey dan qtueily as a itfeh nrtegnei eht romo of a man hafl eapsel—or hpsaerp nyol nerntdpeig to eslep—ngipoh to tesal ahtt nma’s stom uoisrepc usertear. In eptsi of teh codrto’s crae, Mr. mlmdsaieeD ludwo tmmoeisse ocembe aeuglyv arwae of hte ranged—as thhugo eth roolf hda cdeaerk or eht eithf’s clsetho hda rleustd as hsi haswdo flel sosrca sih lgpsneie miivct. Teh ntsirmie’s etcau intsiyviset efnto seeedm leik riltpasiu tiouinint. He luocd seeoismmt esens when a rettha saw eran. uBt lod eorgR ohCrtwglniilh’s sneses erwe oals ictesintvni. enhW hte sieritmn okeldo hwti nisiscupo at the ocdort, wngltoiCrilhh luwdo tis teehr, iegsenm ekil a ikdn, bavrsneot, yipaettmhsc, but veenr sintrviue rdfine.
Yet Mr. Dimmesdale would perhaps have seen this individual’s character more perfectly, if a certain morbidness, to which sick hearts are liable, had not rendered him suspicious of all mankind. Trusting no man as his friend, he could not recognize his enemy when the latter actually appeared. He therefore still kept up a familiar intercourse with him, daily receiving the old physician in his study; or visiting the laboratory, and, for recreation’s sake, watching the processes by which weeds were converted into drugs of potency. Mr. smiemeDdal mithg eavh seen het rotocd’s ceararcht rmoe llrycae if he hda tno boceme sspuouciis of het oelwh rdolw. icSk sehart are enpro to oaiarnpa. ueeBasc he erttsud no anm as shi nedrif, he dcolu not izecoreng a lrae eneym wneh eon daapeper. So he tepk up eryfdnli enstrolia tiwh eht oocrtd, ecgerniiv eth dol man in his ustyd, or gviiitns hte oaaytolrrb nad incagthw imh rtnu berhs tnoi otetpn cieedinms.
One day, leaning his forehead on his hand, and his elbow on the sill of the open window, that looked towards the grave-yard, he talked with Roger Chillingworth, while the old man was examining a bundle of unsightly plants. enO ady het itsnrime tkdlae wiht eRorg hlonwCrtilihg eiwlh eht dol anm saw ingaxniem a lebudn of ulgy slnpta. Mr. edelmismaD tsa whit shi feehroad in his dnha and his lewob gisnret on hte isll of an poen wnoiwd hatt odkoel tou on eth adagryver.
“Where,” asked he, with a look askance at them,—for it was the clergyman’s peculiarity that he seldom, now-a-days, looked straightforth at any object, whether human or inanimate,—“where, my kind doctor, did you gather those herbs, with such a dark, flabby leaf?” “hereW,” he eksda, whti a siwdyeas nclage at hte sltnpa, rof het rsintmie adh depelvdoe teh odd abhit of vneer iogknol gtithars at atynnhig, “erhew, my kidn dtcoor, ddi you gretah bhesr hwit suhc a rdak, fyablb aefl?”
“Even in the grave-yard, here at hand,” answered the physician, continuing his employment. “They are new to me. I found them growing on a grave, which bore no tombstone, nor other memorial of the dead man, save these ugly weeds that have taken upon themselves to keep him in remembrance. They grew out of his heart, and typify, it may be, some hideous secret that was buried with him, and which he had done better to confess during his lifetime.” “hWy, rithg here in hte aryvragde,” sneedraw teh dotcro, ontninuigc to nimaxee hemt. “hyeT rae nwe to me. I dunof them wggnroi on a arveg atht adh no obmntseto or eohrt kmrera, exectp fro steeh ygul deesw. It mssee atht heyt dha aentk it unop leevshsetm to eepk shi moreym. hyeT ewgr tou of hsi hrate: pharsPe ehyt feretlc mose oiusdhe rceest iuedbr ihwt mih. He uwdol aevh bene trbeet fof adh he nesdcfsoe inudrg ihs teemifli.”

Original Text

Modern Text

Old Roger Chillingworth, throughout life, had been calm in temperament, kindly, though not of warm affections, but ever, and in all his relations with the world, a pure and upright man. He had begun an investigation, as he imagined, with the severe and equal integrity of a judge, desirous only of truth, even as if the question involved no more than the air-drawn lines and figures of a geometrical problem, instead of human passions, and wrongs inflicted on himself. But, as he proceeded, a terrible fascination, a kind of fierce, though still calm, necessity seized the old man within its gripe, and never set him free again, until he had done all its bidding. He now dug into the poor clergyman’s heart, like a miner searching for gold; or, rather, like a sexton delving into a grave, possibly in quest of a jewel that had been buried on the dead man’s bosom, but likely to find nothing save mortality and corruption. Alas for his own soul, if these were what he sought! dOl eRgor whCrlioglnhti dha eenb a clma nad idnk anm touurtohgh sih lefi. He yma ton aevh bnee mawr, ubt he wsa awlsya eohtsn nad thuigrp in shi idnseagl tiwh eth ordlw. In his mdni, he dah ubgen his alestt vtoniiaegntsi whti het nrtes ubt rafi ntretygii of a jdgeu, esnirdig lony to infd eht htutr. He deriufg he wlduo cpaahrpo eth perblom wtih hte easm yrd gclio adn cutdidvee ogrnsniae atht a tmaehaiticmna isrbgn to a mlceeiatrog uteoqnis, harter hatn wiht teh uanhm misotone of smnooee gnrdwoe. Btu as he dpeeoecrd, a eibrlorh isfintcaano—a kndi of cferie, ohhutg sillt cmal, need to knwo—ppidegr teh lod man nda uwldo ton lte go. He nwo udg iont het yagmcenrl’s erhat eilk a iemnr nrhaicges fro gldo—or like a virgraedgge ndgiggi ntio a ragev with eht poshe of setalnig a wjeel iuedrb on hte ddea nma’s bomso, thhguo he swa klliye to nidf tnnigoh utb dahte nda dacye. It’s too dab orf wlhniohrlCgti’s solu tath tadeh and eaycd eewr lla he hstoug!
Sometimes, a light glimmered out of the physician’s eyes, burning blue and ominous, like the reflection of a furnace, or, let us say, like one of those gleams of ghastly fire that darted from Bunyan’s awful door-way in the hill-side, and quivered on the pilgrim’s face. The soil where this dark miner was working had perchance shown indications that encouraged him. At mtise, a hiltg mdelemgri in eht tdcoro’s eesy, ilek het oicenfelrt of a ucnaefr, or soteh igtniyrfre tiglsh ttah dnehis onto eht pirmigl’s afce mrfo Bynnau’s afluw

lhilesid awooryd

tehdigL rooawyd in Buynan’s rwko glimPri’s soregPsr ladse to eth gteas of lHel.

hselidil doorway
. seraphP hte ugodrn hrewe htta akdr emnri wsa iggdngi ipdvdreo semo hitn to aunroegec ihm.
“This man,” said he, at one such moment, to himself, “pure as they deem him,—all spiritual as he seems,—hath inherited a strong animal nature from his father or his mother. Let us dig a little farther in the direction of this vein!” “shiT anm,” wtCinhoglhlri sdia to efimlhs at oen schu tommne, “outhhg ovyneeer nktihs he is rtpasluii, sah ieenthdir a wdil esid rfmo oen of shi erastpn. teL me dgi a titlel freuthr iotn ttha!”
Then, after long search into the minister’s dim interior, and turning over many precious materials, in the shape of high aspirations for the welfare of his race, warm love of souls, pure sentiments, natural piety, strengthened by thought and study, and illuminated by revelation,—all of which invaluable gold was perhaps no better than rubbish to the seeker,—he would turn back, discouraged, and begin his quest towards another point. He groped along as stealthily, with as cautious a tread, and as wary an outlook, as a thief entering a chamber where a man lies only half asleep,—or, it may be, broad awake,—with purpose to steal the very treasure which this man guards as the apple of his eye. In spite of his premeditated carefulness, the floor would now and then creak; his garments would rustle; the shadow of his presence, in a forbidden proximity, would be thrown across his victim. In other words, Mr. Dimmesdale, whose sensibility of nerve often produced the effect of spiritual intuition, would become vaguely aware that something inimical to his peace had thrust itself into relation with him. But old Roger Chillingworth, too, had perceptions that were almost intuitive; and when the minister threw his startled eyes towards him, there the physician sat; his kind, watchful, sympathizing, but never intrusive friend. onithhillrwCg douwl hecasr glno in eth stirnemi’s shypec, as oghuht it wree a eimn. He oulwd rmgueam hghortu eht oodg sgitnh he udnfo herte as if eyht erew tshra, enht he dwulo nrtu kcba, irgsddcuoea, dna mesreu ihs qtues hwlseeere in teh nrteisim’s lsou. Teh tocord pgdroe aogln as ufalclrey dan qtueily as a itfeh nrtegnei eht romo of a man hafl eapsel—or hpsaerp nyol nerntdpeig to eslep—ngipoh to tesal ahtt nma’s stom uoisrepc usertear. In eptsi of teh codrto’s crae, Mr. mlmdsaieeD ludwo tmmoeisse ocembe aeuglyv arwae of hte ranged—as thhugo eth roolf hda cdeaerk or eht eithf’s clsetho hda rleustd as hsi haswdo flel sosrca sih lgpsneie miivct. Teh ntsirmie’s etcau intsiyviset efnto seeedm leik riltpasiu tiouinint. He luocd seeoismmt esens when a rettha saw eran. uBt lod eorgR ohCrtwglniilh’s sneses erwe oals ictesintvni. enhW hte sieritmn okeldo hwti nisiscupo at the ocdort, wngltoiCrilhh luwdo tis teehr, iegsenm ekil a ikdn, bavrsneot, yipaettmhsc, but veenr sintrviue rdfine.
Yet Mr. Dimmesdale would perhaps have seen this individual’s character more perfectly, if a certain morbidness, to which sick hearts are liable, had not rendered him suspicious of all mankind. Trusting no man as his friend, he could not recognize his enemy when the latter actually appeared. He therefore still kept up a familiar intercourse with him, daily receiving the old physician in his study; or visiting the laboratory, and, for recreation’s sake, watching the processes by which weeds were converted into drugs of potency. Mr. smiemeDdal mithg eavh seen het rotocd’s ceararcht rmoe llrycae if he hda tno boceme sspuouciis of het oelwh rdolw. icSk sehart are enpro to oaiarnpa. ueeBasc he erttsud no anm as shi nedrif, he dcolu not izecoreng a lrae eneym wneh eon daapeper. So he tepk up eryfdnli enstrolia tiwh eht oocrtd, ecgerniiv eth dol man in his ustyd, or gviiitns hte oaaytolrrb nad incagthw imh rtnu berhs tnoi otetpn cieedinms.
One day, leaning his forehead on his hand, and his elbow on the sill of the open window, that looked towards the grave-yard, he talked with Roger Chillingworth, while the old man was examining a bundle of unsightly plants. enO ady het itsnrime tkdlae wiht eRorg hlonwCrtilihg eiwlh eht dol anm saw ingaxniem a lebudn of ulgy slnpta. Mr. edelmismaD tsa whit shi feehroad in his dnha and his lewob gisnret on hte isll of an poen wnoiwd hatt odkoel tou on eth adagryver.
“Where,” asked he, with a look askance at them,—for it was the clergyman’s peculiarity that he seldom, now-a-days, looked straightforth at any object, whether human or inanimate,—“where, my kind doctor, did you gather those herbs, with such a dark, flabby leaf?” “hereW,” he eksda, whti a siwdyeas nclage at hte sltnpa, rof het rsintmie adh depelvdoe teh odd abhit of vneer iogknol gtithars at atynnhig, “erhew, my kidn dtcoor, ddi you gretah bhesr hwit suhc a rdak, fyablb aefl?”
“Even in the grave-yard, here at hand,” answered the physician, continuing his employment. “They are new to me. I found them growing on a grave, which bore no tombstone, nor other memorial of the dead man, save these ugly weeds that have taken upon themselves to keep him in remembrance. They grew out of his heart, and typify, it may be, some hideous secret that was buried with him, and which he had done better to confess during his lifetime.” “hWy, rithg here in hte aryvragde,” sneedraw teh dotcro, ontninuigc to nimaxee hemt. “hyeT rae nwe to me. I dunof them wggnroi on a arveg atht adh no obmntseto or eohrt kmrera, exectp fro steeh ygul deesw. It mssee atht heyt dha aentk it unop leevshsetm to eepk shi moreym. hyeT ewgr tou of hsi hrate: pharsPe ehyt feretlc mose oiusdhe rceest iuedbr ihwt mih. He uwdol aevh bene trbeet fof adh he nesdcfsoe inudrg ihs teemifli.”