Chapter XX

by George Eliot

　　Nancy and Godfrey walked home under the starlight in silence. Whenthey entered the oaken parlour, Godfrey threw himself into hischair, while Nancy laid down her bonnet and shawl, and stood on thehearth near her husband, unwilling to leave him even for a fewminutes, and yet fearing to utter any word lest it might jar on hisfeeling. At last Godfrey turned his head towards her, and theireyes met, dwelling in that meeting without any movement on eitherside. That quiet mutual gaze of a trusting husband and wife is likethe first moment of rest or refuge from a great weariness or a greatdanger--not to be interfered with by speech or action which woulddistract the sensations from the fresh enjoyment of repose.But presently he put out his hand, and as Nancy placed hers withinit, he drew her towards him, and said--"That's ended!"She bent to kiss him, and then said, as she stood by his side,"Yes, I'm afraid we must give up the hope of having her for adaughter. It wouldn't be right to want to force her to come to usagainst her will. We can't alter her bringing up and what's come ofit.""No," said Godfrey, with a keen decisiveness of tone, in contrastwith his usually careless and unemphatic speech--"there's debtswe can't pay like money debts, by paying extra for the years thathave slipped by. While I've been putting off and putting off, thetrees have been growing--it's too late now. Marner was in theright in what he said about a man's turning away a blessing from hisdoor: it falls to somebody else. I wanted to pass for childlessonce, Nancy--I shall pass for childless now against my wish."Nancy did not speak immediately, but after a little while she asked--"You won't make it known, then, about Eppie's being your daughter?""No: where would be the good to anybody?--only harm. I must dowhat I can for her in the state of life she chooses. I must see whoit is she's thinking of marrying.""If it won't do any good to make the thing known," said Nancy, whothought she might now allow herself the relief of entertaining afeeling which she had tried to silence before, "I should be verythankful for father and Priscilla never to be troubled with knowingwhat was done in the past, more than about Dunsey: it can't behelped, their knowing that.""I shall put it in my will--I think I shall put it in my will.I shouldn't like to leave anything to be found out, like this ofDunsey," said Godfrey, meditatively. "But I can't see anythingbut difficulties that 'ud come from telling it now. I must do whatI can to make her happy in her own way. I've a notion," he added,after a moment's pause, "it's Aaron Winthrop she meant she wasengaged to. I remember seeing him with her and Marner going awayfrom church.""Well, he's very sober and industrious," said Nancy, trying toview the matter as cheerfully as possible.Godfrey fell into thoughtfulness again. Presently he looked up atNancy sorrowfully, and said--"She's a very pretty, nice girl, isn't she, Nancy?""Yes, dear; and with just your hair and eyes: I wondered it hadnever struck me before.""I think she took a dislike to me at the thought of my being herfather: I could see a change in her manner after that.""She couldn't bear to think of not looking on Marner as herfather," said Nancy, not wishing to confirm her husband's painfulimpression."She thinks I did wrong by her mother as well as by her. Shethinks me worse than I am. But she must think it: she can neverknow all. It's part of my punishment, Nancy, for my daughter todislike me. I should never have got into that trouble if I'd beentrue to you--if I hadn't been a fool. I'd no right to expectanything but evil could come of that marriage--and when I shirkeddoing a father's part too."Nancy was silent: her spirit of rectitude would not let her try tosoften the edge of what she felt to be a just compunction. He spokeagain after a little while, but the tone was rather changed: therewas tenderness mingled with the previous self-reproach."And I got you, Nancy, in spite of all; and yet I've beengrumbling and uneasy because I hadn't something else--as if Ideserved it.""You've never been wanting to me, Godfrey," said Nancy, with quietsincerity. "My only trouble would be gone if you resigned yourselfto the lot that's been given us.""Well, perhaps it isn't too late to mend a bit there. Though itis too late to mend some things, say what they will."