esolved on praying and
drawing lots; there was nothing unusual about such proceedings a hundred
years ago. Silas knelt with his brethren, relying on his own innocence
being certified by immediate Divine interference. _The lots declared
that Silas Marner was guilty_. He was solemnly suspended from church-
membership, and called upon to render up the stolen money; only on
confession and repentance could he be received once more within the fold
of the church. Marner listened in silence. At last, when everyone rose
to depart, he went towards William Dane and said, in a voice shaken by
agitation, "The last time I remember using my knife was when I took it
out to cut a strap for you. I don't remember putting it in my pocket
again. _You_ stole the money, and you have woven a plot to lay the sin
at my door. But you may prosper for all that; there is no just God, but
a God of lies, that bears witness against the innocent!"

There was a general shudder at this blasphemy. Poor Marner went out with
that despair in his soul--that shaken trust in God and man which is
little short of madness to a loving nature. In the bitterness of his
wounded spirit, he said to himself, "_She_ will cast me off, too!" and
for a whole day he sat alone, stunned by despair.

The second day he took refuge from benumbing unbelief by getting into
his loom and working away as usual, and, before many hours were past,
the minister and one of the deacons came to him with a message from
Sarah, the young woman to whom he had been engaged, that she held her
engagement at an end. In little more than a month from that time Sarah
was married to William Dane, and not long afterwards it was known to the
brethren in Lantern Yard that Silas Marner had departed from the town.

_II.--The Second Blow_

When Silas Marner first came to Raveloe he seemed to weave like a
spider, from pure impulse, without reflection. Then there were the calls
of hunger, and Silas, in his solitude, had to provide his own breakfast,
dinner, and supper, to fetch his own water from the well, and put his
own kettle on the fire; and all these immediate promptings helped to
reduce his life to the unquestioning activity of a spinning insect. He
hated the thought of the past; there was nothing that called out his
love and fellowship towards the strangers he had come amongst; and the
future was all dark, for there was no Unseen Love that cared for him.

It was then, when all purpose of life was g