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found himself in front of a bright fire which lit up every corner of
the cottage—the bed； the loom； the three chairs； and the table—
and showed him that Marner was not there。
Nothing at that moment could be much more inviting to
Dunsey than the bright fire on the brick hearth： he walked in and
seated himself by it at once。 There was something in front of the
fire； too； that would have been inviting to a hungry man； if it had
been in a different stage of cooking。 It was a small bit of pork
suspended from the kettle…hanger by a string passed through a
large door…key； in a way known to primitive housekeepers
unpossessed of jacks。 But the pork had been hung at the farthest
extremity of the hanger； apparently to prevent the roasting from
proceeding too rapidly during the owner’s absence。
The old staring simpleton had hot meat for his supper； then？
thought Dunstan。 People had always said he lived on mouldy
bread； on purpose to check his appetite。 But where could he be at
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this time； and on such an evening； leaving his supper in this stage
of preparation； and his door unfastened？
Dunstan’s own recent difficulty in making his way suggested to
him that the weaver had perhaps gone outside his cottage to fetch
in fuel； or for some such brief purpose； and had slipped into the
Stone…pit。 That was an interesting idea to Dunstan； carrying
consequences of entire novelty。 If the weaver was dead； who had a
right to his money？ Who would know where his money was
hidden？ Who would know that anybody had come to take it away？
He went no further into the subtleties of evidence： the pressing
question； “Where is the money？” now took such entire possession
of him as to make him quite forget that the weaver’s death was not
a certainty。 A dull mind； once arriving at an inference that flatters
a desire； is rarely able to retain the impression that the notion
from which the inference started was purely problematic。 And
Dunstan’s mind was as dull as the mind of a possible felon usually
is。 There were only three hiding…places where he had ever heard
of cottagers’ hoards being found： the thatch； the bed； and a hole in
the floor。 Marner’s cottage had no thatch； and Dunstan’s first act；
after a train of thought made rapid by the stimulus of cupidity；
was to go up to the bed； but while he did so； his eyes travelled
eagerly over the floor； where the bricks； distinct in the firelight；
were discernible under the sprinkling of sand。 But not
everywhere； for there was one spot； and one only； which was quite
covered with sand； and sand showing the marks of fingers； which
had apparently been careful to spread it over a given space。
It was near the treadles of the loom。 In an instant Dunstan
darted to that spot； swept away the sand with his whip； and；
inserting the thin end of the hook between the bricks； found that
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they were loose。 In haste he lifted up two bricks； and saw what he
had no doubt was the object of his search； for what could there be
but money in those two leathern bags？ And； from their weight；
they must be filled with guineas。 Dunstan felt round the hole； to be
certain that it held no more； then hastily replaced the bricks； and
spread the sand over them。 Hardly more than five minutes had
passed since he entered the cottage； but it seemed to Dunstan like
a long while； and though he was without any distinct recognition
of the possibility that Marner might be alive； and might re…enter
the cottage at any moment； he felt an undefinable dread laying
hold on him； as he rose to his feet with the bags in his hand。 He
would hasten out into the darkness； and then consider what he
should do with the bags。 He closed the door behind him
immediately； that he might shut in the stream of light： a few steps
would be enough to carry him beyond betrayal by the gleams from
the shutter…chinks and the latch…hole。 The rain and darkness had
got thicker； and he was glad of it； though it was awkward walking
with both hands filled； so that it was as much as he could do to
grasp his whip along with one of the bags。 But when he had gone a
yard or two； he might take his time。 So he stepped forward into
the darkness。
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Chapter 5
hen Dunstan Cass turned his back on the cottage； Silas
WMarner was not more than a hundred yards away from
it； plodding along from the village with a sack thrown
round his shoulders as an overcoat； and with a horn lantern in his
hand。 His legs were weary； but his mind was at ease； free from the
presentiment of change。 The sense of security more frequently
springs from habit than from conviction； and for this reason it
often subsists after such a change in the conditions as might have
been expected to suggest alarm。 The lapse of time during which a
given event has not happened is； in this logic of habit； constantly
alleged as a reason why the event should never happen； even
when the lapse of time is precisely the added condition which
makes the event imminent。 A man will tell you that he has worked
in a mine for forty years unhurt by an accident as a reason why he
should apprehend no danger； though the roof is beginning to sink；
and it is often observable that the older a man gets； the more
difficult it is to him to retain a believing conception of his own
death。 This influence of habit was necessarily strong in a man
whose life was so monotonous as Marner’s—who saw no new
people and heard of no new events to keep alive in him the idea of
the unexpected and the changeful； and it explains simply enough
why his mind could be at ease； though he had left his house and
his treasure more defenceless than usual。 Silas was thinking with
double complacency of his supper： first； because it would be hot
and savoury； and secondly； because it would cost him nothing。 For
the little bit of pork was a present from that excellent housewife；
Miss Priscilla Lammeter； to whom he had this day carried home a
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handsome piece of linen； and it was only on occasion of a present
like this that Silas indulged himself with roast…meat。 Supper was
his favourite meal； because it came at his time of revelry； when his
heart warmed over his gold； whenever he had roast…meat； he
always chose to have it for supper。 But this evening； he had no
sooner ingeniously knotted his string fast round his bit of pork；
twisted the string according to rule over his door…key； passed it
through the handle； and made it fast on the hanger； than he
remembered that a piece of very fine twine was indispensable to
his “setting up” a new piece of work in his loom early in the
morning。 It had slipped his memory； because； in coming from Mr。
Lammeter’s； he had not had to pass through the village； but to lose
time by going on errands in the morning was out of the question。
It was a nasty fog to turn out into； but there were things Silas
loved better than his own comfort； so； drawing his pork to the
extremity of the hanger； and arming himself with his lantern an