Night drew near, and he could not avoid that with his readings.

They said their evening prayers and blew out the candles, leaving only the fireplace was a source of light and heat. Hester took another look at the window, but there was only blackness and no more signs of snowfall.

Hester doffed her white linen cap and left it on the table by his bed, so that her glossy black hair fell to her shoulders. She left her shoes and woollen socks at the end of the bed. Mr. Dimmesdale turned his gaze away, and she climbed into his bed and found it warm, soft, and comforting. She closed her eyes, trying to dismiss her thoughts of her reverend sleeping in the space she would sleep in.

It was quiet for a time. Hester kept her eyes closed and thought of how she could not sleep with her racing heart. The fire burned low, but a whisper stirred her to attention. Dimmesdale kneeled in front of his cross on the wall, praying to himself, rocking back and forth in the dim light. Hester watched him for a long time before tiredness eventually overtook her and she had to close her eyes again.

"I have fallen into the pit," he whispered but loud enough for her to hear.

She said nothing as he eventually lay on the floor under a thin blanket. She could not sleep in her stiff outer garments but wasn't sure if it was appropriate to take them off. Once he finished praying and pulled his quilt onto himself, appearing asleep, she lifted her gown off and laid it to the foot of the bed. She removed her petticoats and unlaced her corset, leaving on only her shift.

She eventually fell asleep, but the howl of an animal outside awoke her, and she felt a chill in the room and the fire was out. She leapt out of bed and added the small branches from the wood pile on the few remaining embers. In the dim light, she located the nearby steel flint, which she struck against the bricks to add a spark of flame to the wood. As the embers spread and grew, she added more branches. Surely, the reverend usually checks his fire before sleep, she thought. He must have been distracted by his late night prayers.

The window was open! Hastily she closed and locked it. The bed was on the other side of the room. Even just a crack, some snow had fallen in.

As she turned to see the pastor on the floor, pale as a ghost, her confusion shifted to concern. She placed a hand upon his cheek, and it was icy cold. At first glance at his pallor, she thought he had died.

"Mr. Dimmesdale!" she whispered. "Get thee into bed! Thee will die in this cold air."

He stirred. "An angel?" he said with half-closed eyes.

"Come." She lifted him by the arm. His doublet was damp from the snow, so she unbuttoned and removed it and tucked him into the bed under the layers of quilts. Still between sleep and awake, he grabbed her wrist and pulled his hand to him, and facing the brutal frigid air herself until the fire swelled enough to warm the space, she found herself under the blankets with him.

"Thou art still so cold," she murmured. "I shall warm thee with my body. Disrobe at once to let your body heal.”

It was the sensible thing to do. But her body trembled, and not from the cold, to feel him so close.

"Tis better," he whispered. She faced him, and he rested his arm around her, and he nuzzled his face against her neck. "Mistress Prynne, thou art tender and good."

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"Dost thou feel better?" asked she.

"By flesh, aye. Thou art my salvation! I long to touch thy beauty as I gaze upon thee. I have longed to hold thee and now cannot let go. I thought the cold would numb me from my sinful thoughts." He kissed her, leaning into her, pulling her close against him.

She pulled her shift over her head so that she was nude next to him, her body's warmth improving him and stirring his own fire within. She moved close in so he touched her unclothed body. "I welcome thee. I hath dreamt of thy touch. Feel my warmth, my heart beats for thee."

"Woman, I have dreamt of thee as well. I ache for moments to see thee in church or in my study. I cannot let go now." His hands had never touched a woman's bare skin. His hand traced along her but he was afraid to feel more, already overwhelmed by the mere sight. "Thou art smooth and delicate. I mustn't, but I do not understand this feeling you bring forth from within me," he said.

She reached over to remove his long shirt. Her hands touched his arms and his chest, feeling rough texture and seeing pale faded scars on his arms.

"Marks I add when I have committed sin," he explained.

"It is not a sin to love someone," she told him.

"Heavenly Father, help me. I know that it is. But I feel now that it is not. I am inexperienced at such things, but I shall follow your guidance. On this night, I cannot bear to hold thee away."

"Worry not."

He removed his breeches and stockings. His cock was already hard as iron, and her warm hands stroked it gently. Her skilled fingers, adept from needlework, knew how to move along his body to accomplish her goals.

"Art thou in love?" she inquired.

"Yes - yes - desperately! I need thee. I pledge myself to thee and thee alone."

"Sayest thou so? I do as well."

She took his hand then moved his hand to her breast where he could feel her heartbeat under her creamy pale skin. His hand travelled down her navel and down further still. The soft hair and the opening, wet, invited his fingers as they sank into her, exploring newfound spaces.

"I love his thee absolutely and cherish thee as Christ does His gathered people. I do faithfully promise to marry thee in a time most convenient," the reverend said.

"From day forward, Arthur Dimmesdale, for better, for worse, in sickness, and in health, to love, and cherish, till death do us depart, according to God's holy ordinance: and thereto I give my truth."

"I vow it as well."

She mounted him, placed his hands on her hips, and slid herself onto his cock, joining their bodies. She hadn't done anything but lie still with her husband, dreading every moment, and waiting until it was over. Now she locked eyes with the reverend as her hips moved on their own accord, savouring every sensation shooting throughout her body. Slowly at first, and then her movements gained speed.

"Dearest me! What pleasure, what - loss of words!" cried the minister. "Oh, Mistress Prynne!"

"Say Hester," she said. "I sayeth Arthur, Arthur my love!"

"Hester, oh, Hester."

He flipped her onto her back with her head on the pillows, blankets still pulled up over them. He kissed her bosom. Knowing not what to do from experience, his body and his heart knew what to do upon seeing her smile and feeling her opening ready for him, letting him slide in and out with ease in her warm flesh.

His pace picked up, overriding his thoughts so that he couldn't speak. He planted his lips on his beloved, kissed her deeply, held her close, breathing heavily and moans escaping him. When she arched her back and let out a sudden cry of joy, he couldn't hold back any more, coming within her, feeling the release of a lifetime of anguish into one heavenly body.

They were still for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes in the dim firelight.

"It is Providence that has led me to you," Dimmesdale said.