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and the feeling have never been severed by an act of reflection。 We
are apt to think it inevitable that a man in Marner’s position
should have begun to question the validity of an appeal to the
divine judgment by drawing lots； but to him this would have been
an effort of independent thought such as he had never known； and
he must have made the effort at a moment when all his energies
were turned into the anguish of disappointed faith。 If there is an
angel who records the sorrows of men as well as their sins； he
knows how many and deep are the sorrows that spring from false
ideas for which no man is culpable。
Marner went home； and for a whole day sat alone； stunned by
despair； without any impulse to go to Sarah and attempt to win
her belief in his innocence。 The second day he took refuge from
benumbing unbelief； by getting into his loom and working away as
usual； and before many hours were past； the minister and one of
the deacons came to him with the message from Sarah； that she
held her engagement to him at an end。 Silas received the message
mutely； and then turned away from the messengers to work at his
loom again。 In little more than a month from that time； Sarah was
married to William Dane； and not long afterwards it was known to
the brethren in Lantern Yard that Silas Marner had departed
from the town。
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Silas Marner 21
Chapter 2
ven people whose lives have been made various by
Elearning； sometimes find it hard to keep a fast hold on
their habitual views of life； on their faith in the Invisible；
nay； on the sense that their past joys and sorrows are a real
experience； when they are suddenly transported to a new land；
where the beings around them know nothing of their history； and
share none of their ideas—where their mother earth shows
another lap； and human life has other forms than those on which
their souls have been nourished。 Minds that have been unhinged
from their old faith and love have perhaps sought this Lethean
influence of exile in which the past becomes dreamy because its
symbols have all vanished； and the present too is dreamy because
it is linked with no memories。 But even their experience may
hardly enable them thoroughly to imagine what was the effect on a
simple weaver like Silas Marner； when he left his own country and
people and came to settle in Raveloe。 Nothing could be more
unlike his native town； set within sight of the widespread hillsides；
than this low； wooded region； where he felt hidden even from the
heavens by the screening trees and hedgerows。 There was nothing
here； when he rose in the deep morning quiet and looked out on
the dewy brambles and rank tufted grass； that seemed to have any
relation with that life centring in Lantern Yard； which had once
been to him the altar…place of high dispensations。 The
whitewashed walls； the little pews where well…known figures
entered with a subdued rustling； and where first one well…known
voice and then another； pitched in a peculiar key of petition；
uttered phrases at once occult and familiar； like the amulet worn
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Silas Marner 22
on the heart； the pulpit where the minister delivered
unquestioned doctrine； and swayed to and fro； and handled the
book in a long…accustomed manner； the very pauses between the
couplets of the hymn； as it was given out； and the recurrent swell
of voices in song： these things had been the channel of divine
influence to Marner—they were the fostering home of his religious
emotions—they were Christianity and God’s kingdom upon earth。
A weaver who finds hard words in his hymn…book knows nothing
of abstractions； as the little child knows nothing of parental love；
but only knows one face and one lap towards which it stretches its
arms for refuge and nurture。
And what could be more unlike that Lantern Yard world than
the world in Raveloe？—orchards looking lazy with neglected
plenty； the large church in the wide churchyard； which men gazed
at lounging at their own doors in service…time； the purple…faced
farmers jogging along the lanes or turning in at the Rainbow；
homesteads； where men supped heavily and slept in the light of
the evening hearth； and where women seemed to be laying up a
stock of linen for the life to come。 There were no lips in Raveloe
from which a word could fall that would stir Silas Marner’s
benumbed faith to a sense of pain。 In the early ages of the world；
we know； it was believed that each territory was inhabited and
ruled by its own divinities； so that a man could cross the bordering
heights and be out of the reach of his native gods； whose presence
was confined to the streams and the groves and the hills among
which he had lived from his birth。 And poor Silas was vaguely
conscious of something not unlike the feeling of primitive men；
when they fled thus； in fear or in sullenness； from the face of an
unpropitious deity。 It seemed to him that the Power he had vainly
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trusted in among the streets and at the prayer…meetings was very
far away from this land in which he had taken refuge； where men
lived in careless abundance； knowing and needing nothing of that
trust which； for him； had been turned to bitterness。 The little light
he possessed spread its beams so narrowly that frustrated belief
was a curtain broad enough to create for him the blackness of
night。
His first movement after the shock had been to work in his
loom； and he went on with this unremittingly； never asking
himself why； now he was come to Ravel