"Tis thee," whispered Chillingworth, his face so near to that of the clergyman that he could smell his ruinous chemicals at work, "I know tis thee!"

The minister said nothing, but began to cough, a quiet, unconscious rumbling within his wan chest, which grew in frightful intensity unto a broken and miserable tittering, maddening and desolate – the wretch was laughing!

"Tis but myself that sits before thee," admitted Dimmesdale, dejected and triumphant before the physician, "that part of me which thou seekest lies far from both of us."

And another moment in which Chillingworth's revenge could be exacted ticked away.