Chapter XII

by George Eliot

　　While Godfrey Cass was taking draughts of forgetfulness from thesweet presence of Nancy, willingly losing all sense of that hiddenbond which at other moments galled and fretted him so as to mingleirritation with the very sunshine, Godfrey's wife was walking withslow uncertain steps through the snow-covered Raveloe lanes,carrying her child in her arms.This journey on New Year's Eve was a premeditated act of vengeancewhich she had kept in her heart ever since Godfrey, in a fit ofpassion, had told her he would sooner die than acknowledge her ashis wife. There would be a great party at the Red House on NewYear's Eve, she knew: her husband would be smiling and smiled upon,hiding her existence in the darkest corner of his heart. But shewould mar his pleasure: she would go in her dingy rags, with herfaded face, once as handsome as the best, with her little child thathad its father's hair and eyes, and disclose herself to the Squireas his eldest son's wife. It is seldom that the miserable can helpregarding their misery as a wrong inflicted by those who are lessmiserable. Molly knew that the cause of her dingy rags was not herhusband's neglect, but the demon Opium to whom she was enslaved,body and soul, except in the lingering mother's tenderness thatrefused to give him her hungry child. She knew this well; and yet,in the moments of wretched unbenumbed consciousness, the sense ofher want and degradation transformed itself continually intobitterness towards Godfrey. He was well off; and if she had herrights she would be well off too. The belief that he repented hismarriage, and suffered from it, only aggravated her vindictiveness.Just and self-reproving thoughts do not come to us too thickly, evenin the purest air, and with the best lessons of heaven and earth;how should those white-winged delicate messengers make their way toMolly's poisoned chamber, inhabited by no higher memories than thoseof 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 warmshed the snow would cease to fall. She had waited longer than sheknew, and now that she found herself belated in the snow-hiddenruggedness of the long lanes, even the animation of a vindictivepurpose could not keep her spirit from failing. It was seveno'clock, and by this time she was not very far from Raveloe, but shewas not familiar enough with those monotonous lanes to know how nearshe was to her journey's end. She needed comfort, and she knew butone comforter--the familiar demon in her bosom; but she hesitateda moment, after drawing out the black remnant, before she raised itto her lips. In that moment the mother's love pleaded for painfulconsciousness rather than oblivion--pleaded to be left in achingweariness, rather than to have the encircling arms benumbed so thatthey could not feel the dear burden. In another moment Molly hadflung something away, but it was not the black remnant--it was anempty phial. And she walked on again under the breaking cloud, fromwhich there came now and then the light of a quickly veiled star,for a freezing wind had sprung up since the snowing had ceased. Butshe walked always more and more drowsily, and clutched more and moreautomatically the sleeping child at her bosom.Slowly the demon was working his will, and cold and weariness werehis helpers. Soon she felt nothing but a supreme immediate longingthat curtained off all futurity--the longing to lie down andsleep. She had arrived at a spot where her footsteps were no longerchecked by a hedgerow, and she had wandered vaguely, unable todistinguish any objects, notwithstanding the wide whiteness aroundher, and the growing starlight. She sank down against a stragglingfurze bush, an easy pillow enough; and the bed of snow, too, wassoft. She did not feel that the bed was cold, and did not heedwhether the child would wake and cry for her. But her arms had notyet relaxed their instinctive clutch; and the little one slumberedon as gently as if it had been rocked in a lace-trimmed cradle.But the complete torpor came at last: the fingers lost theirtension, the arms unbent; then the little head fell away from thebosom, and the blue eyes opened wide on the cold starlight. Atfirst there was a little peevish cry of "mammy", and an effort toregain the pillowing arm and bosom; but mammy's ear was deaf, andthe pillow seemed to be slipping away backward. Suddenly, as thechild rolled downward on its mother's knees, all wet with snow, itseyes were caught by a bright glancing light on the white ground,and, with the ready transition of infancy, it was immediatelyabsorbed in watching the bright living thing running towards it, yetnever arriving. That bright living thing must be caught; and in aninstant the child had slipped on all-fours, and held out one littlehand to catch the gleam. But the gleam would not be caught in thatway, and now the head was held up to see where the cunning gleamcame from. It came from a very bright place; and the little one,rising on its legs, toddled through the snow, the old grimy shawl inwhich it was wrapped trailing behind it, and the queer little bonnetdangling at its back--toddled on to the open door of SilasMarner's cottage, and right up to the warm hearth, where there was abright fire of logs and sticks, which had thoroughly warmed the oldsack (Silas's greatcoat) spread out on the bricks to dry. Thelittle one, accustomed to be left to itself for long hours withoutnotice from its mother, squatted down on the sack, and spread itstiny hands towards the blaze, in perfect contentment, gurgling andmaking many inarticulate communications to the cheerful fire, like anew-hatched gosling beginning to find itself comfortable. Butpresently the warmth had a lulling effect, and the little goldenhead sank down on the old sack, and the blue eyes were veiled bytheir delicate half-transparent lids.But where was Silas Marner while this strange visitor had come tohis 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 hadcontracted the habit of opening his door and looking out from timeto time, as if he thought that his money might be somehow comingback to him, or that some trace, some news of it, might bemysteriously on the road, and be caught by the listening ear or thestraining eye. It was chiefly at night, when he was not occupied inhis loom, that he fell into this repetition of an act for which hecould have assigned no definite purpose, and which can hardly beunderstood except by those who have undergone a bewilderingseparation from a supremely loved object. In the evening twilight,and later whenever the night was not dark, Silas looked out on thatnarrow prospect round the Stone-pits, listening and gazing, not withhope, but with mere yearning and unrest.This morning he had been told by some of his neighbours that it wasNew Year's Eve, and that he must sit up and hear the old year rungout and the new rung in, because that was good luck, and might bringhis money back again. This was only a friendly Raveloe-way ofjesting with the half-crazy oddities of a miser, but it had perhapshelped to throw Silas into a more than usually excited state. Sincethe on-coming of twilight he had opened his door again and again,though only to shut it immediately at seeing all distance veiled bythe falling snow. But the last time he opened it the snow hadceased, and the clouds were parting here and there. He stood andlistened, and gazed for a long while--there was really somethingon the road coming towards him then, but he caught no sign of it;and the stillness and the wide trackless snow seemed to narrow hissolitude, and touched his yearning with the chill of despair. Hewent in again, and put his right hand on the latch of the door toclose it--but he did not close it: he was arrested, as he had beenalready since his loss, by the invisible wand of catalepsy, andstood like a graven image, with wide but sightless eyes, holdingopen his door, powerless to resist either the good or the evil thatmight enter there.When Marner's sensibility returned, he continued the action whichhad been arrested, and closed his door, unaware of the chasm in hisconsciousness, unaware of any intermediate change, except that thelight had grown dim, and that he was chilled and faint. He thoughthe had been too long standing at the door and looking out. Turningtowards the hearth, where the two logs had fallen apart, and sentforth only a red uncertain glimmer, he seated himself on hisfireside chair, and was stooping to push his logs together, when, tohis blurred vision, it seemed as if there were gold on the floor infront of the hearth. Goldbrought back to himas mysteriously as it had been taken away! He felt his heart beginto beat violently, and for a few moments he was unable to stretchout his hand and grasp the restored treasure. The heap of goldseemed to glow and get larger beneath his agitated gaze. He leanedforward at last, and stretched forth his hand; but instead of thehard coin with the familiar resisting outline, his fingersencountered soft warm curls. In utter amazement, Silas fell on hisknees and bent his head low to examine the marvel: it was a sleepingchild--a round, fair thing, with soft yellow rings all over itshead. 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 ayear before she died, when he was a small boy without shoes orstockings? That was the first thought that darted across Silas'sblank wonderment. Was it a dream? He rose to his feet again,pushed his logs together, and, throwing on some dried leaves andsticks, 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 aninexplicable surprise and a hurrying influx of memories. How andwhen had the child come in without his knowledge? He had never beenbeyond the door. But along with that question, and almost thrustingit away, there was a vision of the old home and the old streetsleading to Lantern Yard--and within that vision another, of thethoughts which had been present with him in those far-off scenes.The thoughts were strange to him now, like old friendshipsimpossible to revive; and yet he had a dreamy feeling that thischild was somehow a message come to him from that far-off life: itstirred fibres that had never been moved in Raveloe--oldquiverings of tenderness--old impressions of awe at thepresentiment of some Power presiding over his life; for hisimagination had not yet extricated itself from the sense of mysteryin the child's sudden presence, and had formed no conjectures ofordinary natural means by which the event could have been broughtabout.But there was a cry on the hearth: the child had awaked, and Marnerstooped to lift it on his knee. It clung round his neck, and burstlouder and louder into that mingling of inarticulate cries with"mammy" by which little children express the bewilderment ofwaking. Silas pressed it to him, and almost unconsciously utteredsounds of hushing tenderness, while he bethought himself that someof his porridge, which had got cool by the dying fire, would do tofeed the child with if it were only warmed up a little.He had plenty to do through the next hour. The porridge, sweetenedwith some dry brown sugar from an old store which he had refrainedfrom using for himself, stopped the cries of the little one, andmade her lift her blue eyes with a wide quiet gaze at Silas, as heput the spoon into her mouth. Presently she slipped from his kneeand began to toddle about, but with a pretty stagger that made Silasjump up and follow her lest she should fall against anything thatwould hurt her. But she only fell in a sitting posture on theground, and began to pull at her boots, looking up at him with acrying face as if the boots hurt her. He took her on his kneeagain, but it was some time before it occurred to Silas's dullbachelor mind that the wet boots were the grievance, pressing on herwarm ankles. He got them off with difficulty, and baby was at oncehappily occupied with the primary mystery of her own toes, invitingSilas, with much chuckling, to consider the mystery too. But thewet boots had at last suggested to Silas that the child had beenwalking on the snow, and this roused him from his entire oblivion ofany ordinary means by which it could have entered or been broughtinto his house. Under the prompting of this new idea, and withoutwaiting to form conjectures, he raised the child in his arms, andwent 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 firsthungry waking. Bending forward, he could just discern the marksmade by the little feet on the virgin snow, and he followed theirtrack to the furze bushes. "Mammy!" the little one cried againand again, stretching itself forward so as almost to escape fromSilas's arms, before he himself was aware that there was somethingmore than the bush before him--that there was a human body, withthe head sunk low in the furze, and half-covered with the shakensnow.