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Silas Marner, Werewolf Hunter of Raveloe

Jan 03, 2016

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svendac232

by Andy Svendsen and George Eliot

A tribute to George Eliot, a.k.a Mary Anne Evans, this is my "Seth Grahame Smith" treatment, with werewolves and the undead invading Silas' world. If you liked my book, I encourage you to read the original "Silas Marner."

This document is still a work in progress, I will continue to upload revisions as I make progress. The excellent artwork is courtesy of Charlie Layton (charlielayton.com).

If you liked (or hated) what you read, feel free to drop me a line @ [email protected].
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This document is posted to help you gain knowledge. Please leave a comment to let me know what you think about it! Share it to your friends and learn new things together.
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Page 1: Silas Marner, Werewolf Hunter of Raveloe
Page 2: Silas Marner, Werewolf Hunter of Raveloe

“People only see what they are prepared to see.”- Ralph Waldo Emerson The Essential Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson

Chapter 1In the days of yore, when werewolves moved about more freely, there was a small race of pale men, guardians of the human race, who stood out among their more weathered and tanned brethren. The shepherds’ dogs would bark fiercely when one of these odd looking guardians of the human race passed by, only smelling the scent of something wolfish, and never guessing the important role they played. And these pale men were never ever seen without their large burdensome packs on their backs. The shepherds too looked on them suspiciously not knowing these men carried a burden and responsibility far beyond mere mortals did. For in the time before the undead overran the world of men, suspicion and superstition clung round every unknown person, even those intermittent and occasional visits of the peddler or knife grinder. No one knew where this race of pale men had come from, and why they only emerged in the twilight hours. To the peasants of old times, the world outside their own limited experience was a region of vagueness and mystery; to their provincial minds, a state of wondering was a concept as remote as the dim moon in the sky. Even the occasional settler returning from distant parts was looked on with a distrust; as though the longest period of civilized conduct would not preclude the commission of a crime, especially if that settler had any new unknown reputation or knowledge. All cleverness, whether spoken or displayed with some skill, was in itself suspicious; honest village folk in these parts were not overly clever beyond the prediction of a heavy storm or the times of the harvest. In this way it was no surprise that this race of pale white men, from unknown lands, came to be regarded as hermits and loners by their rustic neighbors and usually contracted the eccentric habits which belong those types of people.

In the early years of this century, one of these men, a weaver of linens and purveyor of medicinal herbs named Silas Marner lived alone in a stone cottage that stood at the edge of the village of Raveloe, not too far from the abandoned stone quarry. The questionable sound of his loom, so unlike the natural cheerful trotting of the winnowing machine, or the simple rhythm of the blacksmith at his work had a fearful fascination for the children of Raveloe, who would often come to gather at his window and stare in, watching the weaver busy at work. Little did they know of Silas thoughts and dreams while he sat their wearily hunched at the wheel, thinking sometimes of the golden haired girl and the mysterious message she bore. In those daydreams, Silas would stumble across her sitting in the middle of the snowy thicket saying “while the gold they shall take, life we will make." Then the dark Wolf would arise from the dark wood and close in on them, growling, his eyes like white hot coal. Silas would awake from these sweating and troubled.

It was 15 years since Silas had first arrived in Raveloe, a young troubled man with prominent but seemingly shortsighted brown eyes. His appearance may have been nothing unusual for people of average culture and experience, but for the populace of the remote village of Raveloe, his appearance from parts northward was viewed with much suspicion, for tales were still told of warlocks and witches that lived hidden among men. Silas himself did little to dispel this; he rarely spoke to anyone and never sat his sack down. One evening, Jim Rodney, the local rat catcher, saw Silas leaning heavily against the shed, instead of resting his bag as a man with his senses would have done, and that coming upon him, he saw Marner's eyes were like those of the dead man's, and when he spoke to him, and shook him, his limbs were rigid and his hands clutched the bag as though the most precious things in the whole world were carried inside of it. Just as Jim had made up his mind that the weaver was dead, he came to, mumbled “I must be

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going,” and walked off at an awkward trot old. All this Jim swore he'd seen in a very hushed and secretive tone to anyone who would listen. Some said Marner must have been in a "fit", a word which seemed to explain things otherwise incredible, but the argumentative Mr. Macy, clerk of the parish, shook his head and asked if anyone was ever known to go off in a fit and not fall over. A fit of stroke, was it? And was it not in the nature of a stroke to take away a man's limbs and throw him down convulsing on the ground? No, this was no stroke leaving him on his legs like a horse standing still in the stall, and then allowing him to walk away as soon as you say "Gee!" This is a sign of the soul being loosed from a man's body, like a bird flying out of his nest and back; and that was how folks got over wise, for they went to school in this shell – less state to those who could teach them more about their neighbors and they could learn using their own five senses. And where did Master Marner get his knowledge of herbs from? As well as charms too, if he liked to give them away? Jim Rodney’s story was no more than what than might've been expected by anyone who had seen Marner cures Sally Oates and make her sleep like a baby when her heart had been beating enough to burst her body, when the doctor had been unable to do anything for her for the past two months. Marner might cure more folks if he would, but he will was worth speaking fair, only to keep him from doing you a mischief.

It was partly due to this vague fear that Marner wasn't indebted to for not being persecuted for witchcraft or the like. It also helped that the old linen weaver of Harley had passed away some years ago, so that Marner's usefulness countered any additional suspicion or repugnance. At the end of 15 years the men of Raveloe said the same thing about Silas that they had said when he had arrived in the beginning. Little did they know about Silas’ true nature.

For Silas had been raised many years ago in the town of Lantern Yard. On the night of his birth, the moon had been at dark bloody shade of red, the harbinger of the wolves of the North. His father was a member of the town elders, charged with protecting the enclave and neighboring lands from incursion of the wolves. On the night of his birth his worried father went to talk with the town Reverend, who told him that one day, Silas must face his own destiny, and decide whether he would be werewolf or protector. Not sure which he would choose, his parents chose to keep this knowledge to themselves, and keep the young Silas from going too far into the world am being corrupted by its temptations.

As a child Marner was highly thought of in his isolated hit in world, known to itself as the church assemblage of Lantern Yard. He was believed to be a young man of exemplary life and ardent faith; yet a peculiar interest had been focused on him ever since he had fallen, at a prayer meeting, into a mysterious rigidity and suspension of consciousness, which lasting for an hour or more, could have been mistaken for death. To have sought a medical explanation for this phenomenon would have been held by Silas, his parents and fellow parishioners as a willful exclusion the spiritual significance that might line therein. Silas himself did not know what to make of seeing the girl with her message and the Wolf trying to chase her way during these fits, so he kept quiet out of fear of what the others might say. Silas had acquainted from his mother some familiarity with medicinal herbs in their preparation, a little store of wisdom she had imparted to him as a solid bequest, but he had doubts about the wisdom of applying this knowledge to himself, thinking this a matter reserved solely for prayer.

Among the members of this church there was one young man, barely older than himself, with whom he had lived in such close friendship, it was the custom of the Lantern Yard brethren to call them David and Jonathan just like in the Bible. The real name of his friend was William Dane, and he was also regarded as a bright and shining instance of youthful piety, though known to be somewhat preachy to his younger brethren and wiser than his teachers. But whatever blemishes some might find in William, to his friend Marner he was faultless; for Marner

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had more impressionable and self-doubting nature and his peers. The expression of trusting simplicity in Marner’s face, heightened by the absence of special observation, the large deer like gaze which belongs to prominent eyes strongly contrasted with Williams self-complacent and inner triumph that worked in slanting eyes and smirking lips. One of the most frequent topics discussed was the assurance of salvation; Silas himself could never arrive at anything higher than hope mingled with fear, and listened with longing admiration when William declared with unshaken assurance that ever since his conversion, he dreamt the words “calling and election sure” in the open Bible.

It’d seem to the unsuspecting Silas that his friendship with William had not changed even from the formation of another attachment of the closer kind. For several months now, Silas had been engaged to a young servant woman, Sarah, waiting for little increase in their savings in order to marry. It was with great delight to Silas that Sarah did not object to Williams’s occasional presence during their long conversations. It was at this point in their history that one of Silas’ visions occurred during a prayer meeting. This vision/fit was much longer than before and during that time Silas was completely and utterly unresponsive.

In this vision, Silas saw himself standing among his brethren. One by one, they turn their backs to him and cast him out from their ranks. They left him alone in a wild snow we clearing, when all of a sudden the young girl appeared. She was clothed very thinly and was shivering in the cold. She told Silas “though gold they shall take, life we will make.” As Silas was about to pick up the girl to take her home the Wolf showed up and the vision started to fade.

Silas came to with everyone at the meeting looking at him. Amongst the various queries and expressions of interest, William suddenly suggested this trance looked more like a visitation from Satan then proof of divine favor. He then exhorted Silas to see he had no accursed thing in his soul. Silas feeling bound to accept rebuke and admonition as a brotherly office, felt no resentment at this, but only pain at his brothers’ doubts toward him. Shortly after the meeting, he noticed was some alarm that Sarah’s manner toward him began to exhibit a strange fluctuation between an effort to show more warmth and involuntary signs of distance and dislike. At one point he asked her if she wished to break off their engagement, but she said no, their engagement was known to the church and had been ignored at prayer meetings; it could not be broken off without strict investigation and Sarah could render no reason more that would be sanctioned by the community.

At this time the senior deacon was suddenly taken ill. Rumors circulated as the days went by and the deacon ran a high fever. Hair suddenly started to grow on the deacon’s face and the elders of the community met to discuss whether this was a case of the werewolf malady and if so what should be done. As the deacon was a childless widower, many members of the Lantern Yard community took turns watching over the deacon. Silas himself frequently spent nights with William watching over the deacon, each taking a four hour rotation. Many elders at this time felt that Silas may have turned to the werewolf side and cursed the deacon. But his father held firm telling everyone to wait and see. For Silas, he argued, was still in the midst of becoming a man and that meant the choice had not been made yet.

After a few days the deacon seemed to be getting better. One night Silas was at his side when one of his visions came upon him. All of a sudden he was in the middle of the clearing with the full moon rising and a voice booming “it is time!” Silas came out of his vision with us start, observing the deacon’s usual audible breathing had ceased. The candle was burning low and Silas had lifted to see the deacon’s face distinctly. With growing horror, he realized the deacon was dead for his limbs were rigid and cold. Silas looked at the clock and saw it was four in the

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morning. Why had William not relieved him then? In much anxiety Silas rushed to find help, and soon he had roused several people including the minister. But where was William? Silas left work wishing he could’ve met William and found out why he had not come.

At six o’clock, William came, and with him, the minister. They came to summon Silas to Lantern Yard vestibule, to meet the church members there. When Silas innocently inquired as to the cause of this summons, the reply was “you will hear.” Nothing further was said until Silas had been seated in the vestry. With much alarm, Silas noted that not only were the church members assembled but that also the Council of Elders was seated facing him. With some trepidation in his voice, for he knew not what to think of this, Silas again inquired why he was there. At this point the minister with drew a pocket knife from his pocket and showed it to Silas. He asked Silas if this was his knife, and Silas examining it, replying yes it was his. The minister then asked Silas if he knew where he had left that last. Silas replied he did not know where he had left it anywhere but out of his own pocket. Silas was then exhorted not to hide his sin but to confess and repent. The minister said the knife had been found in the Bureau by the departed deacon’s bedside, found in the place where the bag of church money was, which the minister had seen the day before. Some hand had removed that back, and whose hand could it be if not the man to whom the pocketknife belonged.

Silas was speechless for several moments then finally said “God will clear me; I knew nothing about the knife being there were the money being gone. Search me a my dwelling for you will find nothing but three pound five of my savings, which William Dane knows I have had these past six months.” At this William groaned and there was much commotion and whispering among the church members until one of the elders held his hand for silence. The minister proceeded “The proof is heavy against you, Brother Marner. The money was taken on the night last past, and no man was with our departed brother but you, for William Dane declares he was hindered in his duties by a sudden sickness and yourself said he had not come. Moreover you neglected the dead body for hours!”

“I must have slept,” said Silas “or,” he added “I must have had another visitation like which you have all seen me under and the thief must have come and gone while I was out of my body. But I say again, search me and my dwelling for I have nothing to hide.”

A at this there was a general outcry of indignation and many gasps among the gathered. Church members violently whispered amongst themselves, shocked the deacon had been alone by himself at the end. For he had attended the community so well for so many years to have such a disgraceful end. Many hostile eyes turned towards Silas, and this time the elders banged the meeting stone for silence.

A search was quickly made of his quarters and ended with William Dane finding the well-known bag, empty, tucked behind Silas’s chest of drawers. William whirled on Silas asking him again to confess and not hide his sin any longer. Silas looked at William reproachfully and with much hurt in his voice said “William for all the years of our friendship, have you ever known mean to lie?”

William replied “Brother, how do I know the secret chambers of your heart, were Satan himself may hide?”

Silas looking at his friend, suddenly remembered something that made him flush for a moment, but then he said “I remember now – the knife was not in my pocket!”

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All eyes in the room focused at William, who said “I knew nothing what you mean.” Silas would give no further explanation at this point except “God will clear me.”

At this point, the elders returned to their chambers to deliberate. It was obvious that William was complicit in the theft, but the more serious matter at hand was what to do about Silas. The curse of the blood moon seemed to be driving the young Marner towards becoming a werewolf and the deacon may very have well been his first victim. Silas’s father angrily said no, we don’t know that for sure. After much heated deliberation, it was decided that young Silas should be expelled from the community, and if he turned to be a werewolf, his father would have the job of finishing the task.

A as the elders returned to the chamber, all the voices of the assembled church members quieted down to a hush and the elders were ready to render their verdict. Silas was summoned just come and stand before them. “Silas Marner” they said “The council of elders has found you guilty of theft and neglect. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

At this Silas said “The last time I remember using my knife was when I took it out to cut a strap for you, William Dane. I do not remember putting it in my pocket. You have woven a plot to lay the sin at my door. But you may prosper for all that; that governs earth righteously, but god of lies, that bears witness against innocent.”

At this, there was a general roar and outcry at this blasphemy. Everyone was aghast. After much pounding of the meeting stone, the minister thundered “Silence! Silas Marner, you have been found guilty by the Council of Elders of theft. Your sentence is expulsion from our community.” It took much to restore order after that but eventually Silas was escorted from the chambers.

He was sent to his room with two deacons and escorts in order to pack his belongings. His sister stood by weeping, but his father was stony faced and met no one’s gaze.

After packing, Silas was marched to Lantern Yard entrance and with everyone assembled, the gates were closed behind him. Poor Silas walked off with despair in his soul, his trust shaken in both fellow God fellow man and God.

“It is not the creation of wealth that is wrong, but the love of money for its own sake.”

- Margaret Thatcher British PM (1979-1990)

Chapter 2

Even educated people sometimes find it hard to keep a hold on their views, to sense that their past joys and sorrows were real, even their faith when they are suddenly transported to a new land, and find themselves surrounded by beings who know none of their history and share none of their ideas – where mother Earth herself shows another lap and human life has other forms on which their souls have been nourished. Even the strongest of minds can forget old faith and laws, when the past becomes a dream because all its landmarks are gone and the present is dreamy because it has no landmarks..

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However even this was an understatement of the fact on the young, sorrowful and can use Marner upon arriving in Raveloe. The emotional wounds and anger still fresh within him, he beheld a landscape nothing like Lantern Yard. The woods obscured the sky completely and the dewy brambles and toppled grass bore no resemblance to Lantern Yard whatsoever. His soul felt enclosed, encouraging him to bury the past deep within them. The little pews where well-known figures entered with a subdued rustling and where first one well-known voice and then another pitched in an unfamiliar key of petition was a noticeable contrast to phrases so very familiar. These were Christians to, yet their faces and mannerisms were unfamiliar and alien to the newly arrived Silas.

Raveloe was so very unlike Lantern Yard, with orchards looking lazily over the neglected plenty; and of a large church in a wide churchyard; where men supped heavily and slept in the light of the evening hearth, and where women seem to be laying up a stock of linen for the life to come. There were no lips in Raveloe from which a word would come that would ever remind Silas numbed faith of its past pain. It seemed to Silas that the power he had had vainly trusted in among his peers at prayer meetings all these years was very distant from this land where he had taken refuge; and where men lived in careless abundance, knowing and seemingly not needing nothing of the trust and faith, to which for him had turned to bitterness. The little light headed burn so brightly within him started to grow very dim and faint.

His first instinct was to return again to the loom, and he went to it with it a fierce and unremitting energy, never asking himself why he worked so far and the night to finish Mrs. Osgood’s table linen, far sooner than she would ever have expected. The dreams and visions had not haunted him for some time now, his emotions were very deep within him and Sarah was very far from his thoughts. There had been no last-minute pardon for them, he had left quietly with just a few moments spent saying goodbye to his father, his father’s face completely unreadable. Silas had then stopped by his mother’s grave for a few moments on the way out of town, and then left the Lantern Yard never turning his head back. Silas’s attention these days focused solely on the loom with few interruptions; the calls of hunger; the need to occasionally fetch water from the well and remembering to put the kettle back on the fire. It was almost as if he had become a spider, spinning a web to hide himself from the world. There was nothing that called out his love and fellowship to the strangers he had come amongst and the future was all dim now, for there was no unseen love that cared for him. All thought was arrested by utter bewilderment, its old narrow pathway was closed and affection seemed to have died under the bruise that it fallen on its keenest nerves.

When Mrs. Osgood’s table linen was at last finished, Silas was paid in gold. In Lantern Yard, that prior life where he worked for his father, had been at a lower rate; he had been paid weekly, and of those earnings, a large part had gone to the church. Now for the first time in his life, he had five bright gold guineas put in his hand; and no man expected to share them; and no man he loved enough to offer a share. But what were guineas to him who saw no vista beyond the countless days of weaving? There was no reason to ask this for it felt pleasant enough to hold the guineas in his palm. His hand had known the touch of hard-earned money even before his palm had grown to its full breath; for the years prior spent working in his father shop, money had stood to them as a mysterious symbol of earthly good. He had seemed to love it a little before when every penny already had its own purpose planned out in advance; for then he had had plans and purpose. But now with all his dreams fallen asunder, the habit of looking toward money with a sense of fulfilled effort was now changed by desire. Silas drew out his money and thought it was brighter in the gathering gloom that it’d ever been before.

About this time and incident happened which seemed open the possibility of sums fellowship

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with his neighbors. One day, taking a pair of shoes to be mended, he saw the cobbler’s wife seated by the fire, suffering from the terrible symptoms of heart disease and dropsy, which he had witnessed as a precursor of his mother’s death. At once he felt a rush of pity at the mingled sight and recalling the relief his mother had found from a simple preparation of foxglove, he promised Sally Oates to bring something that would ease her since the village doctor was unable to. For the first time in a very long time, Silas felt he might have something in common with his fellow villagers, as Sally expressed much gratitude for the relief she felt. Silas Marner suddenly became the subject of much gossip and speculation for when Dr. Kimble gave a cure it was one thing, but when this curious weaver, who came from nobody knew where, works such wonder with a bottle brown liquid, the occult character of the process was very much evident. Such miracles had not been known since the wise woman of Tarley had passed; everyone used to visit her for charms and stuff when their children had fits. So everyone naturally assumed Silas was a person of that same sort, otherwise how could he have known to bring back Sally Oates her breath back? The Wise Woman had words she muttered to herself so that you could not hear what they were, and if she had a bit of red thread, it would keep off the water in his head. There were women and Raveloe who wore one of the wise woman’s charms around their necks, and in consequence had never had an idiot child. So obviously, Silas Marner must be able to work even more wonders, coming from such unknown paths as he had. But Sally took care never to tell the doctor about her foxglove for he would frequently be angry coming across one of these wise woman’s cures.

Silas suddenly found his cottage beset with village mothers who wanted to charm away the whooping cough, or charm the rheumatism. They came bearing silver, but while Silas might’ve turned a tidy profit of false charms, he instead drove the villagers away and some irritation. It was at this time he started giving more thought to his father’s charms silver pieces, and one day, Inside was a small bound journal with a curious medallion on it. It was titled “the search for the lycanthrope.” Silas broke the seal at once and with growing astonishment started reading the pages inside. Apparently the lycanthrope was a wolf like creature that preyed on the men at night. Silas was not sure that his father would depart for strange gatherings. But his dad was part of the Lantern Yard elders, and there were many things a Silas did not understand about them. At the end of the book, Silas discovered a section on how to build the silver spike, apparently which being driven to the lycanthrope’s heart was the only guaranteed way to stop it.

Silas kept reading the book over and over as time permitted. The guineas, crowns and half crowns started to grow into a heap as Silas worked obsessively over his loom. He began to hoard more and more as all his own once diminished in that new false idol of gold. His sole goal seemed to be working 16 hour days with as little expense as possible. He’d never felt so isolated in all his life. He kept working to turn the power of gold into a square, then into a larger square and so on. Every new guinea rather than satisfying him, just increased the desire to earn another. If he had a less intense nature, he might’ve continued to dully sit weaving hour after hour until he forgot all else except the immediate sensations around him. He handled his coins, counted them until their form and color were like the satisfaction to him. He had taken up some bricks in the floor underneath his loom, and there he made a hole in which he set the iron pot of gold in. He would cover the bricks with sand whenever he replaced them. Robbery was not very common in those days for someone did commit robbery, how would they spend the coins of the village without?

Unknown to Silas though, the werewolves began to roam. The weavers of Lantern Yard and many other neighboring areas had begun to aggressively chase them and had driven the lycanthropes to roam farther. The werewolf, or lycanthrope, has a strong instinct to preserve its own kind, but constantly wars with its instinct to dominate its territory. While Silas sat hunched

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over the loom, his life being reduced to weaving and hoarding, the werewolves roamed far and wide reclaiming new territory as the weavers drove them out of their old territory. Silas’s face and figure shrink and his once prominent eyes became dull while his father’s journal lay closed and dusty. Soon the children began to take to calling him old Master Marner.

And then one night, a werewolf passed by in the distance while Silas bent at his work. The inhuman howl it made raised all the hairs on Silas’s neck and he looked up once, astonished. He ran to the door, in the process stumbling against his dining table and knocking over the brown earthenware pot he used for fetching water. He looked only at the broken pieces on the floor for only a moment and then ran to the door again as the next howl came, seizing a broomstick this time. The night was clear and cold, the full Moon high in the sky. Silas could see nothing however as the wolf was still far away.

Silas looked at the snow on the ground, and with the shock realized it was almost Christmas. Little did he know that a great turbulence would descend upon him shortly, and that his life would dramatically change once again.

“Once a dream did weave the shade,O’er my angel guarded bed.That an Emmet lost its way, Where on grass methought I lay”

--”A Dream” by William Blake

Chapter 3

The greatest man in Raveloe was Squire Cass, who lived in the large red house with the handsome flight of store steps in front and the high stables behind it nearly opposite church. His grandfather had been among those who first built the church and then later the house and stables. There were several landed parishioners in Raveloe, but his family had maintained the title of Squire. Little did anyone know though, that Squire’s grandfather had had a small band of armed men to drive out the mysterious men and women who lived here before. They might’ve been surprised to know a curse been laid upon the Cass family, but even the Squire himself had little idea what it might be. These hermit dwellers that had lived before being driven out were a dirty and ill-bred lot in his grandfather eyes, and he had paid no notice to their threats. Mr. Osgood’s family alone was as old as the Cass family, considered of timeless origin as the current Raveloe imagination never ventured back to that fearful time before the village. Still Mr. Osgood nearly owned his own farm, while Squire Cass had many tenants, who complained of the game to him as though he had been a lord.

Far away in distant lands, war raged on between humans and creatures of the night, though little this was known in the small town of Raveloe. People here were still optimistic about life, not knowing that man’s very existence might come into question. Prices still remained high so these yeomen and small squires could maintain their extravagant habits and bad husbandry on what they earned. Old-fashioned country life had many different aspects, as all life must have when it is spread over a various surface, and breathed on my multitinuous channels, from which the

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winds of heaven to the thoughts of men, are ever moving and crossing each other with incalculable results. Raveloe and the few small villages remained aloof from the vast industries and mighty struggles springing up in the cities the support ongoing war effort. The rich ate and drank freely, accepting gout and apoplexy as things that sprang mysteriously in respectable families and the poor did not begrudge them this as the feasting caused a multiplication of the orts, which were the heirlooms of the poor. Betty Jay smelled the boiling of the Squire Cass’s hams, but her longing was arrested by unctuous liquor in which they were boiled; and when the seasons brought round the great merry-makings, they were regarded by all as a fine thing for the poor. For Raveloe feasts were like the rounds of beef and barrels of ale. They were done on a large scale, and lasted a good while especially in the winter time. After ladies had packed up their best gowns in top knots and band boxes, and incurred the danger of fording the rapid streams in icy weather, it was not supposed they looked forward to a brief pleasure. On this ground it was always confirmed in the dark seasons when there was little from work to be done, and the hours are long that several neighbors should keep open house in succession. So soon as Squire Cass’s standing dishes were diminished in plenty and freshness, his guests had no more to do than walk a little farther to Mr. Osgood’s, where they found hams and pork pies with the scent afire in them, spun butter its freshness, everything the hedonistic appetite could require , in perhaps greater perfection, though not abundance, the Squire Cass’.

For the Squire’s wife had mysteriously vanished many years ago, in very unusual circumstances, and the red House therefore was without the presence of wife and mother. Many in the village had searched long and hard for her when she disappeared, but none had ever found her. Only a torn piece of her coat ever turned up. It’d been a very long time since she disappeared so gossip and speculation had finally run its course. The Squire had never been suspect in the disappearance and for his part had kept up the appearance of a distraught husband finally giving in to grief as those around him gave up hope of finding her. No one knew of the ransom note that had shown up a few days after the Squire’s wife disappearance demanding the return of the land the Squire’s house stood on. But that of course would never happen. The Squire’s family would keep the secret of Raveloe’s start to the very end.

This was why the Squire’s house displayed more perfusion than finished excellence at the holiday feast. The proud Squire frequently presided in the parlor of the rainbow rather than under the shadow of his own dark wainscot. The Squire’s sons often fell ill without their mother to watch over them. Raveloe was not a place where moral censure was severe, but it was thought a weakness and Squire that he allowed his sons at home in idleness rather than put them to work. And while he could afford it, people shook their heads in dismay at the course of the second son, Dunstan, commonly called Duncey Cass, whose taste for swapping and betting might turn out to be a sowing something worse than wild oats. To be sure the neighbors said it was no matter what became of Dunsey, a spiteful cheering fellow so long as his doings did not bring trouble upon a family like Squire Cass', with the monument in the church and tank yards older than King George Little did they know that Dunstan's gambling debts have been steadily mounting and that he was having trouble keeping up. Dunstan himself was rapidly growing desperate in soon he realized he would have to turn to some other means beyond his allowance to keep up

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Dunstan's older brother Mr. Godfrey was still looked on with some respect as he was a fine open faced good-natured young man who would come into the Squire’s land someday provided he stopped taking the road his younger brother was. For the neighbor said it would be quite a pity if he lost Ms. Nancy Lammeter; as it was well known she looked very slyly upon him ever since he had started being away from home longer and longer. Little did they know of the grim news that Mr. Godfrey had come upon during his visits to the nearby cities, where it was always smoggy and people hurried about in the darkening gloom. Mr. Godfrey had found out about the state of the war against the forces of darkness and undead and had kept this grim secret tightly around his heart. He had started to hear some rumors of a new land and was making inquiries on how to secure passage there. No one knew that this was the reason why he stopped looking so fresh faced and cheerful as he used to. It brought Godfrey little cheer to overhear people speculating what a handsome couple he and Ms. Nancy Lammeter would make. As if the only thing that mattered was bringing a mistress to the red House and setting it to rights.

It was a dark and serious Godfrey, standing with his hands crossed behind his back one late November in the dark wainscoted parlor in that fifteenth year of Silas Marner's life in Raveloe. Negotiations had gone very poorly with the courier relaying demands for ever more money upfront for passage to the new world. His dad the squire must not ever discover what he was up to until he left, but hiding that amount of money was getting increasingly more difficult. He seemed to be waiting and listening for someone's approach and presently the sound of a heavy step, with a careless whistle was heard across the large empty hall.

The door was thrust open, and a thickset heavy-looking young man entered with the flushed face and gratuitously elated bearing which marks the first stage of intoxication. It was Dunsey of course, and at the sight of him, Godfrey’s expression narrowed even further. The handsome brown spaniel that had lay on the hearth fearfully retreated under a chair in the chimney corner.

"Well Master Godfrey what do you want with me" said Dunsey in a mocking tone "you're my older brother so I was obliged you know to come when you sent for me"

"Look at you" said Godfrey savagely, “already drunk on Master Tom's ale. Get yourself together and listen!" He himself had been drinking a little more than he should and this did not help his temper one bit. "I want to tell you that I must hand over that rent of Fowlers to the squire or else tell him I gave it to you. For the squire's been demanding it and it'll be out soon whether I tell him or not. The squire said just now before you went out that he should send word to Cox himself to turn Fowler out it if he didn’t come up and pay his arrears in a week. The squire is short of cash and in no humor to stand any further nonsense; and you know what he threatened if he ever found you making away with his money again. So, get the money and make it quick before it is the road for you"

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“Oh!” sneered Dusney, approaching his brother and looking him square in the eye now “Suppose now you get the money yourself and me the trouble, eh? Since you were so kind to hand it over to me, you’ll not refuse the kindness to pay it back; after all it was your brother that made you do it, you know”

Godfrey bit his lips and clenched his fists. “Don’t come near me with that look, else I’ll knock you down.”

“Oh no you won’t.” sneered Dunsey, but turning his heel regardless, “ Because I’m such a good natured borther you know. I might get you turned out of house and home and cut off with not a shilling. I might tell the Squire how his nice young boy has been seen in city yonder, and I should then slip in your place as comfortable – “

“How did you know that?” demanded Godgrey “Where have you been going? What have you been up to?”

“Oh one hers things in their daily life” replied Dunsey trying unsuccessfully to maintain an innocent look

“I don’t have that much money anyways” lied Godfrey, fearing he might come up short for his travel plans if he had to pay for this “ And it’s a lie you’d slip in my place; you’d get yourself turned out too that’s all. For if you begin telling tales I can easily tell a few of my known. Bob is father's favorite, you know that well. He'd only think him well if he do is rid of you"

"Just never you mind" at Dunsey "it'd be very pleasant to me to go in your company. We have such good times quarreling with each other. But you’d like better for us to both stay at home together, I know you would. So you’ll manage to get that little sum of money and I'll bid goodbye now though I'm sorry to part"

Dunstanstarted to move off hoping he would make his escape

Godfrey seized him and spoke with an oath "I tell you I have no money to spare! You must get the money!"

"Borrow of old Kimble!"

Godfrey swore "I tell you he won't lend me anymore again and I shan't ask him"

"Well then sell wildfire"

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"Yes that's easy for you to say I need the money directly"

"Well you've only got to ride him to the hunt tomorrow. There'll be Bryce and old Keating to bid on him"

"Sure and then I'll come back at eight muddy up to the chin to go to Ms. Osgood's birthday dance" Godfrey still hadn't made up his mind about Nancy. There was still that small chance he been able to book them both passage but he couldn't tell her until he was sure, for then he’d tip his hand to all and everything he'd worked so hard for would be for nothing.

"Oho!" said Dunsey turning his head on one side and trying to speak in a mincing tone ”And then there’s sweet little Nancy Lammeter coming; and we shall dance with her and promise never to be naughty again"

“Hold your tongue about Ms. Nancy fool" said Godfrey instantly turning a bright red "Else I’ll throttle you”

"What for" said Dunsey, still in an artificed tone, "What has good old Godfrey been doing in the city? You know you've a very good chance with Nancy. And you've got a very good-natured brother who will keep your secret very well because you have been so obliging to him"

"I will tell you what" said Godfrey quivering with rage "my patience now is pretty much at an end. if there is even a spark of wit in, you might know that if you push me too far, and make one leap as easy as another; I don't know but what is so now. I may as well tell the squire everything to get you off my back, if nothing else. After all he's bound to find out eventually when it comes to this much money. So don't flatter yourself your secrecy's worth any price you choose to ask. You drain me of money at this rate, and I'll just tell father everything and you may go to the devil" After all there were still some remote possibilitiesif he was cut off. But his secret must never be found out no matter what.

Don't see perceived he had overshot the mark and there was a point where Godfrey would decide himself what to do. Still he said with an air of unconcern "As you please, but I will have a draught of ale first." And ringing the bell he threw himself across two chairs and began to wrap the window-eat.

Godfrey remained standing with his back to the fire, uneasily moving his fingers among the contents of this side pockets, looking at the floor. The big muscular frame of his helps plenty of animal courage, but did not help them to a decision when the dangers he faced couldn't simply be knocked down or throttled. No one must know about his plan, but Dunstan was a most unreliable fellow. If he confessed all to father, he would most certainly be cut off, but betrayal by

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Dunstan was not uncertain. The London papers talk about a stalemate as the forces of undead were unable to completely secure a landing from occupied France. But the battles they fought were fierce and casualties high since no prisoners would be taken. Enlisting with the Armed Forces seemed certain suicide. The utmost concession to Dunstan about selling the horse began to seem easy compared with the fulfillment of his own threat. His pride however would not let him restart the conversation without resuming the quarrel. Dunstan was expecting this and took his ale in shorter droughts than usual.

"It's just like you" Godfrey burst in a bitter tone, “to talk about selling my wildfire in that cool way. The last thing I've got the call my own and the best horse I've ever owned. And if you had a spark of pride left in you, you'd be ashamed to see the staple emptied and everyone sneering about it. I bet you'd sell yourself if only to get the pleasure of someone getting a bad bargain"

“Aye, aye” said Dunstan very placably “You do me a justice I see. You know well I entice people into bargains, for which reason I advise you to let me sell Wildfire. I’d ride him to hunt tomorrow for you with pleasure though I shouldn’t look so handsome as you in the saddle. But it is the horse they bid for, not the rider”

“Yes, I daresay – trust my horse to you”

“As you please” said Dunsey with an air of great unconcern “its not me who has to pay Fowler’s money, its none of my business at all” You were the one Fowler paid, and then told the Squire that he hasn’t paid. I had nothing to do with it, you were just so obliging as to let me have the money, that’s all. If you don’t want to pay the money, leave it alone, it’s all the same to me. But I was willing to accommodate you by selling the horse, seeing as it is inconvenient for you”

Godfrey stood there glowering for several moment. His hands were begging him to seize Dunstan and flog his annoying brother within an inch of his worthless life. It was certainly fear that was not holding him back, but his plan. He replied “ will you mean no nonsense about the horse eh? You’ll sell him all fair and hand over the money? For if you don’t, you’ll not have the pleasure of putting the horse over my head when you’re thick skull is smashed in”

“I thought you’d come round” said Dunstan, rising unsteadily. “I’m the fellow to bring old Bryce up to scratch. I’ll get you a hundred and tewenty for him if I get you a penny”

“And what if rains tomorrow? “ said Godgrey, nto sure if he wanted the obstacle or not. He could picture the Yardmouth moored at the dock ina gloomy fog loading quiet and sullen passengers for the trip to the new world, and bit his tongue

“I’m always lucky in my weather” slurred Dusnstan as he he swayed back and forth “It might rain if you want . But you’ve got the beauty and I got the luck, so you must keep me around for your crooked sixpence. You’ll never get along without me”

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“Damn you, hold your tongue” growled Godfrey as he grabbed his brother’s shoulders “Take care to be sober tomorrow, else you’ll get pitched head first coming home and Wildfire will be the worse for it”

“Its so lovely of you to care” crooned Dunstan clasping his hands together with a silly grin “But I never see double when there is a biargain to bmake. Besides, when I fall, I’m warranted to fall on my legs” And with that Dunstan grasped the door, stumbled through, and slammed it shut behindhim, leaving Godfrey with his thoughts.

And that was where we find Godfrey at the ripe age of twenty six. A lifetime of idle foolishness until his eyes were opened to the world outside. He knew he must leave Raveloe. There was nothing for him here really, and eventually it would fall. Maybe Nancy Lammeter would come with him to the colonies, maybe not. He could always find someone new there. But until then, his father must not know, for it would all come apart. Godfrey was fast becoming a bitter man, visited by cruel wishes that seemed to depart and enter again like demons who found a well furnished home.

“Good and bad luck is a synonym in the great majority of instances, for good and bad judgment.”

- Colonel John Chatfield 6th Conneticut Regiment American Civil War

Chapter 4

Dunstan Cass stumbled out of bed late next morning cursing a ferocious hangover. He made his way slowly, scowling at everyone in the house. Out along the road he passed the stone pit, where Silas lived ina former stone cutter’s shed. It was overcast and the dark sky was reflected in the water puddled up in the hard clay soil. Dunstan heard the old weaver’s loom rattling away, and dimly recalled the village talk about the old fool. It hadn’t occurred to him to force Godfrey make the old man give them a loan. After all, being the squire’s sons, they were good prospects. He almost began to turn back, but it occurred to him that he shouldn’t let Godfrey have all the fun. Let Godfrey stew for a while, while he had the enjoyment of selling Wildfire.

He was riding towards town, when he came upon Bryce and Keating at the gate to the hunting grounds. They had been cleaning out their pistols and occasionally swapping droughts from a small metal flask. When Bryce saw him pull up, he called out “Hey there Dunsey, you’re on your brother’s horse. How’s that?”

“Oh there was a little agreement between us” replied Dunstan in a careless tone” and Wildfire will make it even. I didn’t want him for I got an itch for John’s mare. But I shall keep Wildfire, though I got a bid of a hundred and fifity for him the other day”

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Bryce knew at once Dunstan wanted to sell the horse, but he kept cleaning his pistol while letting Dunstan run his mouth a bit longer. He and Keating had been setting up all day for this hunt and were looking forward to it.

After awhile, he said “I should wonder that you didn’t sell him for that horse is barely worth a hundred”

Dunstan acted insulted and was about to reply, when Keating spoke up and said the horse might be worth ninety, but not a farthing more. After much heated argument, it was settled Bryce should be Wildfire for a hundred and twenty upon sole delivery at Batherely’s stables.

By now, Dunstan was quite full of himself and rather than bring Wildfire to the stable, decided he would go hunting with Bryce and Keating.

The day was getting crisp now, and Dunstan mounted his horse. Bryce and Keating exchanged a knowing look, but pulled up their reins and led the party out.

The brisk ride thorugh the woods energized Dunstan and the quarry was spotted almost instantly. It was a small red fox who darted away as soon as it was spotted. With great whoops of delight, Bryce, Keating and Dunstan kicked their steeds and tore off in pursuit. The fox led them on a wild chase, with branches slapping at everyone. They came to the edge of an embankment, and without barely a though, all charged down.

Near the bottom however was a scattering of loose rocks. Bryce and Keating smoothly led their mounts through them, but Dunstan was carless and ran Wildfire through them causing her to fall and throw him into a patch of bushes. Dunstan was scratched up a little, and slowly up, cursing the fact his wineskin had burst open and spilt its contents, when he glanced at Wildfire. She was laying on her side, her forelegs obviously broken. Dunstan, whose nature was to care more about immediate annoyance rather than remote consequence, was relieved to see there was none to witness this inopportune state of affairs. After squeezing the last few drops from the burst wineskin, Dunstan tossed it aside, and then started to head back towards town.

Walking home was not something Dunstan was looking forward to. While the village was mostly safe, there were a few mutters here and there of strange happenigns in the woods. Sometimes, when his brother Godfrey was away, Dunstan would go into his room looking for money. He had seen some notices of strange folk in the wood. While surely these strangers were probably just traveling minstrels, Dunsey’s imagination started to get the better of him. He wished he had brought a gun too, as his only defense was a beaten and bent pocketknife.

As he looked around, and tried to figure a good way to slink back into Raveloe, the thought of the old weaver’s cottage started to occur to him again. The fool weaver never did anything but weave all day, he must have saved something like a fortune by now. With a grin on his face, Dunsey realized that maybe his luck wasn’t so bad after all. Shoving his hands in his pockets and whistling a careless tune, Dunsey shambled off in the direction of the village. When he made it back to Batherly’s the joke would be on the stablemen, rather than on him in his muddy boots.

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It was starting to get later in the day, and a thick mist had started to descend. Dunstan remembered he had crossed the raod and seen the finger post before old Wildfire had broken down. Buttoning up his coat and twisting the last of his riding whip, he began to stride more confidently despite the gloom. The whip was Godfrey’s, with a gold handle and Godfrey’s initials embossed in the butt, a very handsome whip indeed. Dunsey almost stumbled when he came across the crossroads. Some lanterns had been set out, and were glowing faintly in the distance. At this point, Dunsey was slightly worried about seeing an acquaintance, but the roads were quite deserted. In the distance, there was a sudden peculiar noise, not quite a howl, but definitely echoing. For the first time, cold fingers of fear started to grip Dunsey’s heart, but he shook them off, telling himself Marner’s cottage could not be far. As continued walking, he noticed the road was in deteriorating condition. He stumbled here and there, and almost slid down an embankment.

Presently, he began to see the faint lights of Silas’