ink on or to wish for with fine things about me, as I haven't been
used to. And it 'ud be poor work for me to put on things, and ride in
a gig, and sit in a place at church, as 'ud make them as I'm fond of
think me unfitting company for 'em. What could _I_ care for then?"

Nancy looked at Godfrey with a pained questioning glance. But his eyes
were fixed on the floor, where he was moving the end of his stick, as
if he were pondering on something absently. She thought there was a
word which might perhaps come better from her lips than from his.

"What you say is natural, my dear child--it's natural you should cling
to those who've brought you up," she said, mildly; "but there's a duty
you owe to your lawful father. There's perhaps something to be given
up on more sides than one. When your father opens his home to you, I
think it's right you shouldn't turn your back on it."

"I can't feel as I've got any father but one," said Eppie, impetuously,
while the tears gathered. "I've always thought of a little home where
he'd sit i' the corner, and I should fend and do everything for him: I
can't think o' no other home. I wasn't brought up to be a lady, and I
can't turn my mind to it. I like the working-folks, and their
victuals, and their ways. And," she ended passionately, while the
tears fell, "I'm promised to marry a working-man, as'll live with
father, and help me to take care of him."

Godfrey looked up at Nancy with a flushed face and smarting dilated
eyes. This frustration of a purpose towards which he had set out under
the exalted consciousness that he was about to compensate in some
degree for the greatest demerit of his life, made him feel the air of
the room stifling.

"Let us go," he said, in an under-tone.

"We won't talk of this any longer now," said Nancy, rising. "We're your
well-wishers, my dear--and yours too, Marner. We shall come and see
you again. It's getting late now."

In this way she covered her husband's abrupt departure, for Godfrey had
gone straight to the door, unable to say more.

CHAPTER XX

Nancy and Godfrey walked home under the starlight in silence. When
they entered the oaken parlour, Godfrey threw himself into his chair,
while Nancy laid down her bonnet and shawl, and stood on the hearth
near her husband, unwilling to leave him even for a few minutes, and
yet fearing to utter any word lest it might jar on his feeling. At
last Godfrey turned his head towards her, an