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acknowledge her as his wife。 There would be a great party at the
Red House on New Year’s Eve； she knew： her husband would be
smiling and smiled upon； hiding her existence in the darkest
corner of his heart。 But she would mar his pleasure： she would go
in her dingy rags； with her faded face； once as handsome as the
best； with her little child that had its father’s hair and eyes； and
disclose herself to the Squire as his eldest son’s wife。 It is seldom
that the miserable can help regarding their misery as a wrong
inflicted by those who are less miserable。 Molly knew that the
cause of her dingy rags was not her husband’s neglect； but the
demon Opium to whom she was enslaved； body and soul； except in
the lingering mother’s tenderness that refused to give him her
hungry child。 She knew this well； and yet； in the moments of
wretched unbenumbed consciousness； the sense of her want and
degradation transformed itself continually into bitterness towards
Godfrey。 He was well off； and if she had her rights she would be
well off too。 The belief that he repented his marriage； and suffered
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from it； only aggravated her vindictiveness。 Just and self…
reproving thoughts do not come to us too thickly； even in the
purest air and with the best lessons of heaven and earth； how
should those white…winged delicate messengers make their way to
Molly’s poisoned chamber； inhabited by no higher memories than
those of a barmaid’s paradise of pink ribbons and gentlemen’s
jokes？
She had set out at an early hour； but had lingered on the road；
inclined by her indolence to believe that if she waited under a
warm shed the snow would cease to fall。 She had waited longer
than she knew； and now that she found herself belated in the
snow…hidden ruggedness of the long lanes； even the animation of a
vindictive purpose could not keep her spirit from failing。 It was
seven o’clock； and by this time she was not very far from Raveloe；
but she was not familiar enough with those monotonous lanes to
know how near she was to her journey’s end。 She needed comfort；
and she knew but one comforter—the familiar demon in her
bosom； but she hesitated a moment； after drawing out the black
remnant； before she raised it to her lips。 In that moment the
mother’s love pleaded for painful consciousness rather than
oblivion—pleaded to be left in aching weariness rather than to
have the encircling arms benumbed so that they could not feel the
dear burden。 In another moment Molly had flung something away；
but it was not the black remnant—it was an empty phial。 And she
walked on again under the breaking cloud； from which there came
now and then the light of a quickly veiled star； for a freezing wind
had sprung up since the snowing had ceased。 But she walked
always more and more drowsily； and clutched more and more
automatically the sleeping child at her bosom。
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Slowly the demon was working his will； and cold and weariness
were his helpers。 Soon she felt nothing but a supreme immediate
longing that curtained off all futurity—the longing to lie down and
sleep。 She had arrived at a spot where her footsteps were no
longer checked by a hedgerow； and she had wandered vaguely；
unable to distinguish any objects； notwithstanding the wide
whiteness around her； and the growing starlight。 She sank down
against a straggling furze bush； an easy pillow enough； and the
bed of snow； too； was soft。 She did not feel that the bed was cold；
and did not heed whether the child would wake and cry for her。
But her arms had not yet relaxed their instinctive clutch； and the
little one slumbered on as gently as if it had been rocked in a lace…
trimmed cradle。
But the complete torpor came at last： the fingers lost their
tension； the arms unbent； then the little head fell away from the
bosom； and the blue eyes opened wide on the cold starlight。 At
first there was a little peevish cry of “mammy”； and an effort to
regain the pillowing arm and bosom； but mammy’s ear was deaf；
and the pillow seemed to be slipping away backward。 Suddenly； as
the child rolled downward on its mother’s knees； all wet with
snow； its eyes were caught by a bright glancing light on the white
ground； and； with the ready transition of infancy； it was
immediately absorbed in watching the bright living thing running
towards it； yet never arriving。 That bright living thing must be
caught； and in an instant the child had slipped on all fours； and
held out one little hand to catch the gleam。 But the gleam would
not be caught in that way； and now the head was held up to see
where the cunning gleam came from。 It came from a very bright
place； and the little one； rising on its legs； toddled through the
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snow； the old grimy shawl in which it was wrapped trailing behind
it； and the queer little bonnet dangling at its back—toddled on to
the open door of Silas Marner’s cottage； and right up to the warm
hearth； where there was a bright fire of logs and sticks； which had
thoroughly warmed the old sack （Silas’s greatcoat） spread out on
the bricks to dry。 The little one； accustomed to be left to itself for
long hours without notice from its mother； squatted down on the
sack； and spread its tiny hands towards the blaze； in perfect
contentment； gurgling and making many inarticulate
communications to the cheerful fire； like a new…hatched gosling
beginning to find itself comfortable。 But presently the warmth had
a lulling effect； and the little golden head sank down on the old
sack； and the blue eyes were veiled by their delicate half…
transparent lids。
But where was Silas Marner while this strange visitor had come
to his hearth？ He was in the cottage； but he did not see the child。
During the last few weeks； since he had lost his money； he had
contracted the habit of opening his door and looking out from time
to time； as if he thought that his money might be somehow coming
back to him； or that some trace； some news of it； might be
mysteriously on the road； and be caught by the listening ear or the
straining eye。 It was chiefly at night； when he was not occupied in
his loom； that he fell into this repetition of an act for which he
could have assigned no definite purpose； and which can hardly be
understood except by those who have undergone a bewildering
separation from a supremely loved object。 In the evening twilight；
and later whenever the night was not dark； Silas looked out on
that narrow prospect round the Stone…pits； listening and gazing；
not with hope； but with mere yearning and unrest。
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This morning he had been told by some of his neighbours that
it was New Year’s Eve； and that he must sit up and hear the old
year rung out and the new rung in； because that was good luck；
and might bring his money back again。 This was only a friendly
Raveloe…way of jesting with the half…crazy oddities of a miser； but
it had perhaps helped to thr