Young Goodman Brown came forth at sunset， intothe street of Salem village， but put his head back， aftercrossing the threshold， to exchange a parting kiss with hisyoung wife. And Faith， as the wife was aptly named， thrusther own pretty head into the street， letting the windplay with the pink ribbons of her cap， while she called toGoodman Brown.
“Dearest heart，” whispered she， softly and rather sadly，when her lips were close to his ear， “pr’y thee， put off yourjourney until sunrise， and sleep in your own bed to-night.
A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and suchthoughts， that she’s afeard of herself， sometimes. Pray，tarry with me this night， dear husband， of all nights in theyear！”
“My love and my Faith，” replied young Goodman Brown，“of all nights in the year， this one night must I tarry awayfrom thee. My journey， as thou callest it， forth and backagain， must needs be done ’twixt now and sunrise. What，my sweet， pretty wife， dost thou doubt me already， and webut three months married！”
“Then God bless you！” said Faith， with the pink ribbons，“and may you find all well， when you come back.”
“Amen！” cried Goodman Brown. “Say thy prayers， dearFaith， and go to bed at dusk， and no harm will come tothee.”
So they parted； and the young man pursued his way， until，being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house， helooked back and saw the head of Faith still peeping afterhim， with a melancholy air， in spite of her pink ribbons.
“Poor little Faith！” thought he， for his heart smote him.
“What a wretch am I， to leave her on such an errand！ Shetalks of dreams， too. Methought， as she spoke， there wastrouble in her face， as if a dream had warned her whatwork is to be done to-night. But， no， no！ ’twould kill herto think it. Well； she’s a blessed angel on earth； and afterthis one night， I’ll cling to her skirts and follow her toHeaven.”
With this excellent resolve for the future， GoodmanBrown felt himself justified in making more haste onhis present evil purpose. He had taken a dreary road，darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest， whichbarely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through，and closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely ascould be； and there is this peculiarity in such a solitude，that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by theinnumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead； sothat， with lonely footsteps， he may yet be passing throughan unseen multitude.
“There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree，”
said Goodman Brown to himself； and he glanced fearfullybehind him， as he added， “What if the devil himself shouldbe at my very elbow！”
His head being turned back， he passed a crook of theroad， and looking forward again， beheld the figure of aman， in grave and decent attire， seated at the foot of anold tree. He arose， at Goodman Brown’s approach， andwalked onward， side by side with him.
“You are late， Goodman Brown，” said he. “The clock ofthe Old South was striking， as I came through Boston； andthat is full fifteen minutes agone.”
“Faith kept me back awhile，” replied the young man， witha tremor in his voice， caused by the sudden appearance ofhis companion， though not wholly unexpected.
It was now deep dusk in the forest， and deepest in thatpart of it where these two were journeying. As nearly ascould be discerned， the second traveller was about fiftyyears old， apparently in the same rank of life as GoodmanBrown， and bearing a considerable resemblance to him，though perhaps more in expression than features. Still，they might have been taken for father and son. And yet，though the elder person was as simply clad as the younger，and as simple in manner too， he had an indescribable air ofone who knew the world， and would not have felt abashedat the governor’s dinner-table， or in King William’s court，were it possible that his affairs should call him thither.
But the only thing about him， that could be fixed upon asremarkable， was his staff， which bore the likeness of a greatblack snake， so curiously wrought， that it might almost beseen to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent. This，of course， must have been an ocular deception， assisted bythe uncertain light.
“Come， Goodman Brown！” cried his fellow-traveller，“this is a dull pace for the beginning of a journey. Take mystaff， if you are so soon weary.”
“Friend，” said the other， exchanging his slow pace for afull stop， “having kept covenant by meeting thee here， it ismy purpose now to return whence I came. I have scruples，touching the matter thou wot’st of.”
“Sayest thou so？” replied he of the serpent， smilingapart. “Let us walk on， nevertheless， reasoning as we go，and if I convince thee not， thou shalt turn back. We arebut a little way in the forest， yet.”
“Too far， too far！” exclaimed the goodman， unconsciouslyresuming his walk. “My father never went into the woodson such an errand， nor his father before him. We havebeen a race of honest men and good Christians， since thedays of the martyrs. And shall I be the first of the name ofBrown， that ever took this path and kept—”
“Such company， thou wouldst say，” observed the elderperson， interrupting his pause. “Well said， GoodmanBrown！ I have been as well acquainted with your familyas with ever a one among the Puritans； and that’s no trifleto say. I helped your grandfather， the constable， when helashed the Quaker woman so smartly through the streetsof Salem. And it was I that brought your father a pitch-pine knot， kindled at my own hearth， to set fire to anIndian village， in King Philip’s War. They were my goodfriends， both； and many a pleasant walk have we had alongthis path， and returned merrily after midnight. I wouldfain be friends with you， for their sake.”
“If it be as thou sayest，” replied Goodman Brown， “Imarvel they never spoke of these matters. Or， verily， Imarvel not， seeing that the least rumor of the sort wouldhave driven them from New England. We are a peopleof prayer， and good works to boot， and abide no suchwickedness.”