'What child is it?' said several ladies at once, and, among the
rest, Nancy Lammeter, addressing Godfrey.
'I don't know- some poor woman's who has been found in the snow,
I believe,' was the answer Godfrey wrung from himself with a
terrible effort. ('After all, am I certain?' he hastened to add,
silently, in anticipation of his own conscience.)
'Why, you'd better leave the child here, then, Master Marner,' said
good-natured Mrs Kimble, hesitating, however, to take those dingy
clothes into contact with her own ornamented satin bodice. 'I'll
tell one o' the girls to fetch it.'
'No- no- I can't part with it, I can't let it go,' said Silas,
abruptly. 'It's come to me- I've a right to keep it.'
The proposition to take the child from him had come to Silas
quite unexpectedly, and his speech, uttered under a strong sudden
impulse, was almost like a revelation to himself: a minute before,
he had no distinct intention about the child.
'Did you ever hear the like?' said Mrs Kimble, in mild surprise, to
her neighbour.
'Now, ladies, I must trouble you to stand aside,' said Mr Kimble,
coming from the card-room, in some bitterness at the interruption, but
drilled by the long habit of his profession into obedience to
unpleasant calls, even when he was hardly sober.
'It's a nasty business turning out now, eh, Kimble?' said the
Squire. 'He might ha' gone for your young fellow- the 'prentice,
there- what's his name?'
'Might? aye- what's the use of talking about might?' growled
uncle Kimble, hastening out with Marner, and followed by Mr
Crackenthorp and Godfrey.
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