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it had perhaps helped to throw Silas into a more than usually
excited state。 Since the oncoming of twilight he had opened his
door again and again； though only to shut it immediately at seeing
all distance veiled by the falling snow。 But the last time he opened
it the snow had ceased； and the clouds were parting here and
there。 He stood and listened； and gazed for a long while—there
was really something on the road coming towards him then； but he
caught no sign of it； and the stillness and the wide trackless snow
seemed to narrow his solitude； and touched his yearning with the
chill of despair。 He went in again； and put his right hand on the
latch of the door to close it—but he did not close it： he was
arrested； as he had been already since his loss； by the invisible
wand of catalepsy； and stood like a graven image； with wide but
sightless eyes； holding open his door； powerless to resist either the
good or evil that might enter there。
When Marner’s sensibility returned； he continued the action
which had been arrested； and closed his door； unaware of the
chasm in his consciousness； unaware of any intermediate change；
except that the light had grown dim； and that he was chilled and
faint。 He thought he had been too long standing at the door and
looking out。 Turning towards the hearth； where the two logs had
fallen apart； and sent forth only a red uncertain glimmer； he
seated himself on his fireside chair； and was stooping to push his
logs together； when； to his blurred vision； it seemed as if there
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were gold on the floor in front of the hearth。 Gold！—his own
gold—brought back to him as mysteriously as it had been taken
away！ He felt his heart begin to beat violently； and for a few
moments he was unable to stretch out his hand and grasp the
restored treasure。 The heap of gold seemed to glow and get larger
beneath his agitated gaze。 He leaned forward at last； and stretched
forth his hand； but instead of the hard coin with the familiar
resisting outline； his fingers encountered soft warm curls。 In utter
amazement； Silas fell on his knees and bent his head low to
examine the marvel： it was a sleeping child—a round； fair thing；
with soft yellow rings all over its head。 Could this be his little sister
come back to him in a dream—his little sister whom he had
carried about in his arms for a year before she died； when he was a
small boy without shoes or stockings？ That was the first thought
that darted across Silas’s blank wonderment。 Was it a dream？ He
rose to his feet again； pushed his logs together； and； throwing on
some dried leaves and sticks； raised a flame； but the flame did not
disperse the vision—it only lit up more distinctly the little round
form of the child； and its shabby clothing。 It was very much like
his little sister。 Silas sank into his chair powerless； under the
double presence of an inexplicable surprise and a hurrying influx
of memories。 How and when had the child come in without his
knowledge？ He had never been beyond the door。 But along with
that question； and almost thrusting it away； there was a vision of
the old home and the old streets leading to Lantern Yard—and
within that vision another； of the thoughts which had been present
with him in those far…off scenes。 The thoughts were strange to him
now； like old friendships impossible to revive； and yet he had a
dreamy feeling that this child was somehow a message come to
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him from that far…off life： it stirred fibres that had never been
moved in Raveloe—old quiverings of tenderness—old impressions
of awe at the presentiment of some Power presiding over his life；
for his imagination had not yet extricated itself from the sense of
mystery in the child’s sudden presence； and had formed no
conjectures of ordinary natural means by which the event could
have been brought about。
But there was a cry on the hearth： the child had awaked； and
Marner stooped to lift it on his knee。 It clung round his neck； and
burst louder and louder into that mingling of inarticulate cries
with “mammy” by which little children express the bewilderment
of waking。 Silas pressed it to him； and almost unconsciously
uttered sounds of hushing tenderness； while he bethought himself
that some of his porridge； which had got cool by the dying fire；
would do to feed the child with if it were only warmed up a little。
He had plenty to do through the next hour。 The porridge；
sweetened with some dry brown sugar from an old store which he
had refrained from using for himself； stopped the cries of the little
one； and made her lift her blue eyes with a wide quiet gaze at
Silas； as he put the spoon into her mouth。 Presently she slipped
from his knee and began to toddle about； but with a pretty stagger
that made Silas jump up and follow her lest she should fall against
anything that would hurt her。 But she only fell in a sitting posture
on the ground； and began to pull at her boots； looking up at him
with a crying face as if the boots hurt her。 He took her on his knee
again； but it was some time before it occurred to Silas’s dull
bachelor mind that the wet boots were the grievance； pressing on
her warm ankles。 He got them off with difficulty； and baby was at
once happily occupied with the primary mystery of her own toes；
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inviting Silas； with much chuckling； to consider the mystery too。
But the wet boots had at last suggested to Silas that the child had
been walking on the snow； and this roused him from his entire
oblivion of any ordinary means by which it could have entered or
been brought into his house。 Under the prompting of this new
idea； and without waiting to form conjectures； he raised the child
in his arms； and went to the door。 As soon as he had opened it；
there was the cry of “mammy” again； which Silas had not heard
since the child’s first hungry waking。 Bending forward； he could
just discern the marks made by the little feet on the virgin snow；
and he followed their track to the furze bushes。 “Mammy！” the
little one cried again and again； stretching itself forward so as
almost to escape from Silas’s arms； before he himself was aware
that there was something more than the bush before him—that
there was a human body； with the head sunk low in the furze； and
half covered with the shaken snow。
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Chapter 13
t was after the early supper…time at the Red House；and the
entertainment was in that stage when bashfulness itself had
I
passed into easy jollity； when gentlemen； conscious of unusual
accomplishments； could at length be prevailed on to dance a
hornpipe； and when the Squire preferred talking loudly； scattering
snuff； and patting his visitors’ backs； to sitting longer at the whist…
table—a choice exasperating to uncle Kimble； who； being always
volatile in sober business hours； became intense and bitter over
cards and brandy； shuffled before his adversary’s deal with a glare
of suspicion； and turne