A throng of bearded men, in sad-coloured garments and grey steeple-crowned hats, was assembled in front of a wooden prison in Boston. Beside its door grew a wild rose-bush, whose delicate blossoms seemed to offer their fragrance to the prisoner as he went in, and to the condemned criminal as he came forth to his doom. On this June morning the door was flung open, and a young woman stepped out into the sunshine with a baby in her arms. On the breast of her gown, in fine red cloth, surrounded with an elaborate embroidery of gold thread, appeared the letter A. It had the effect of a spell, taking her out of the ordinary relations with humanity and enclosing her in a sphere by herself. Her name was Hester Prynne. She was led to the scaffold in the market-place, where, for three hours, she had to stand beneath the eyes of the whole town.