hter-in-law would be a saving to the old Squire, if she never
brought a penny to her fortune; for it was to be feared that,
notwithstanding his incomings, there were more holes in his pocket than
the one where he put his own hand in. But if Mr. Godfrey didn't turn
over a new leaf, he might say "Good-bye" to Miss Nancy Lammeter.

It was the once hopeful Godfrey who was standing, with his hands in his
side-pockets and his back to the fire, in the dark wainscoted parlour,
one late November afternoon in that fifteenth year of Silas Marner's
life at Raveloe. The fading grey light fell dimly on the walls
decorated with guns, whips, and foxes' brushes, on coats and hats flung
on the chairs, on tankards sending forth a scent of flat ale, and on a
half-choked fire, with pipes propped up in the chimney-corners: signs
of a domestic life destitute of any hallowing charm, with which the
look of gloomy vexation on Godfrey's blond face was in sad accordance.
He seemed to be waiting and listening for some one's approach, and
presently the sound of a heavy step, with an accompanying whistle, was
heard across the large empty entrance-hall.

The door opened, and a thick-set, heavy-looking young man entered, with
the flushed face and the gratuitously elated bearing which mark the
first stage of intoxication. It was Dunsey, and at the sight of him
Godfrey's face parted with some of its gloom to take on the more active
expression of hatred. The handsome brown spaniel that lay on the
hearth retreated under the chair in the chimney-corner.

"Well, Master Godfrey, what do you want with me?" said Dunsey, in a
mocking tone. "You're my elders and betters, you know; I was obliged
to come when you sent for me."

"Why, this is what I want--and just shake yourself sober and listen,
will you?" said Godfrey, savagely. He had himself been drinking more
than was good for him, trying to turn his gloom into uncalculating
anger. "I want to tell you, I must hand over that rent of Fowler's to
the Squire, or else tell him I gave it you; for he's threatening to
distrain for it, and it'll all be out soon, whether I tell him or not.
He said, just now, before he went out, he should send word to Cox to
distrain, if Fowler didn't come and pay up his arrears this week. The
Squire's short o' cash, and in no humour to stand any nonsense; and you
know what he threatened, if ever he found you making away with his
money again. So, see and get the money, and p