silas marner(织工马南)-第14节
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extremity of the hanger； and arming himself with his lantern and
his old sack； he set out on what； in ordinary weather； would have
been a twenty minutes’ errand。 He could not have locked his door
without undoing his well…knotted string and retarding his supper；
it was not worth his while to make that sacrifice。 What thief would
find his way to the Stone…pits on such a night as this？ and why
should he come on this particular night； when he had never come
through all the fifteen years before？ These questions were not
distinctly present in Silas’s mind； they merely serve to represent
the vaguely…felt foundation of his freedom from anxiety。
He reached his door in much satisfaction that his errand was
done： he opened it； and to his short…sighted eyes everything
remained as he had left it； except that the fire sent out a welcome
increase of heat。 He trod about the floor while putting by his
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lantern and throwing aside his hat and sack； so as to merge the
marks of Dunstan’s feet on the sand in the marks of his own nailed
boots。 Then he moved his pork nearer to the fire； and sat down to
the agreeable business of tending the meat and warming himself
at the same time。
Any one who had looked at him as the red light shone upon his
pale face； strange straining eyes； and meagre form； would perhaps
have understood the mixture of contemptuous pity； dread； and
suspicion with which he was regarded by his neighbours in
Raveloe。 Yet few men could be more harmless than poor Marner。
In his truthful； simple soul； not even the growing greed and
worship of gold could beget any vice directly injurious to others。
The light of his faith quite put out； and his affections made
desolate； he had clung with all the force of his nature to his work
and his money； and like all objects to which a man devotes
himself； they had fashioned him into correspondence with
themselves。 His loom； as he wrought in it without ceasing； had in
its turn wrought on him； and confirmed more and more the
monotonous craving for its monotonous response。 His gold； as he
hung over it and saw it grow； gathered his power of loving
together into a hard isolation like its own。
As soon as he was warm he began to think it would be a long
while to wait till after supper before he drew out his guineas； and
it would be pleasant to see them on the table before him as he ate
his unwonted feast。 For joy is the best of wine； and Silas’s guineas
were a golden wine of that sort。
He rose and placed his candle unsuspectingly on the floor near
his loom； swept away the sand without noticing any change； and
removed the bricks。 The sight of the empty hole made his heart
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leap violently； but the belief that his gold was gone could not come
at once—only terror； and the eager effort to put an end to the
terror。 He passed his trembling hand all about the hole； trying to
think it possible that his eyes had deceived him； then he held the
candle in the hole and examined it curiously； trembling more and
more。 At last he shook so violently that he let fall the candle； and
lifted his hands to his head； trying to steady himself； that he might
think。 Had he put his gold somewhere else； by a sudden resolution
last night； and then forgotten it？ A man falling into dark waters
seeks a momentary footing even on sliding stones； and Silas； by
acting as if he believed in false hopes； warded off the moment of
despair。 He searched in every corner； he turned his bed over； and
shook it； and kneaded it； he looked in his brick oven where he laid
his sticks。 When there was no other place to be searched； he
kneeled down again and felt once more all round the hole。 There
was no untried refuge left for a moment’s shelter from the terrible
truth。
Yes； there was a sort of refuge which always comes with the
prostration of thought under an overpowering passion： it was that
expectation of impossibilities； that belief in contradictory images；
which is still distinct from madness； because it is capable of being
dissipated by the external fact。 Silas got up from his knees
trembling； and looked round at the table： didn’t the gold lie there
after all？ The table was bare。 Then he turned and looked behind
him—looked all round his dwelling； seeming to strain his brown
eyes after some possible appearance of the bags where he had
already sought them in vain。 He could see every object in his
cottage—and his gold was not there。
Again he put his trembling hands to his head； and gave a wild；
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ringing scream； the cry of desolation。 For a few moments after； he
stood motionless； but the cry had relieved him from the first
maddening pressure of the truth。 He turned； and tottered towards
his loom； and got into the seat where he worked； instinctively
seeking this as the strongest assurance of reality。
And now that all the false hopes had vanished； and the first
shock of certainty was past； the idea of a thief began to present
itself； and he entertained it eagerly； because a thief might be
caught and made to restore the gold。 The thought brought some
new strength with it； and he started from his loom to the door。 As
he opened it the rain beat in upon him； for it was falling more and
more heavily。 There were no footsteps to be tracked on such a
night—footsteps？ When had the thief come？ During Silas’s
absence in the daytime the door had been locked； and there had
been no marks of any inroad on his return by daylight。 And in the
evening； too； he said to himself； everything was the same as when
he had left it。 The sand and bricks looked as if they had not been
moved。 Was it a thief who had taken the bags？ or was it a cruel
power that no hands could reach； which had delighted in making
him a second time desolate？ He shrank from this vaguer dread；
and fixed his mind with struggling effort on the robber with hands；
who could be reached by hands。 His thoughts glanced at all the
neighbours who had made any remarks； or asked any questions
which he might now regard as a ground of suspicion。 There was
Jem Rodney； a known poacher； and otherwise disreputable： he
had often met Marner in his journeys across the fields； and had
said something jestingly about the weaver’s money； nay； he had
once irritated Marner； by lingering at the fire when he called to
light his pipe； instead of going about his business。 Jem Rodney
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was the man—there was ease in the thought。 Jem could be found
and made to restore the money： Marner did not want to punish
him； but only to get back his gold which had gone from him； and
left his soul like a forlorn traveller on an unknown desert。 The
robber must be laid hold of。 Marner’s ideas of legal authority were
confused； but he felt that he must go and proclaim his loss； and the
great people in the village—the clergyman； the constable； and
Squire Cass—would make Jem Rodney； or somebody else； deliver
up the stolen money。 He rushed out in the rain； under the stimulus
of this hope； forgetting to cover his head； not caring to fasten his
door； for he fe
