“Well—stay—let me see,” said Mr. Snell, like a docile clairvoyante, who would really not make a mistake if she could help it. After stretching the corners of his mouth and contracting his eyes, as if he were trying to see the earrings, he appeared to give up the effort, and said, “Well, he’d got earrings in his box to sell, so it’s nat’ral to suppose he might wear ’em. But he called at every house a’most in the village; there’s somebody else, mayhap, saw ’em in his ears, though I can’t take upon me rightly to say.”

Mr. Snell was correct in his surmise that somebody else would remember the peddler’s earrings. For on the spread of inquiry among the villagers it was stated with gathering emphasis that the parson had wanted to know whether the peddler wore earrings in his ears, and an impression was created that a great deal depended on the eliciting of this fact. Of course, every one who heard the question, not having any distinct image of the peddler without earrings, immediately had an image of him with earrings, larger or smaller, as the case might be; and the image was presently taken for a vivid recollection, so that the glazier’s wife, a well-intentioned woman, not given to lying, and whose house was among the cleanest in the village, was ready to declare, as sure as ever she meant to take the sacrament the very next Christmas that was ever coming, that she had seen big earrings in the shape of the young moon in the peddler’s two ears; while Jinny Oates, the cobbler’s daughter, being a more imaginative person, stated not only that she had seen them too, but that they had made her blood creep as it did at that very moment while there she stood.

Also, by way of throwing further light on this clue of the tinder-box, a collection was made of all the articles purchased from the peddler at various houses, and carried to the Rainbow to be exhibited there. In fact, there was a general feeling in the village that for the clearing-up of this robbery there must be a great deal done at the Rainbow, and that no man need offer his wife an excuse for going there while it was the scene of severe public duties.

Some disappointment was felt, and perhaps a little indignation also, when it became known that Silas Marner, on being questioned by the Squire and the parson, had retained no other recollection of the peddler than that he had called at his door, but had not entered his house, having turned away at once when Silas, holding the door ajar, had said that he wanted nothing. This had been Silas’s testimony, though he clutched strongly at the idea of the peddler’s being the culprit, if only because it gave him a definite image of a whereabout for his gold after it had been taken away from its hiding-place. He could see it now in the peddler’s box. But it was observed with some irritation in the village that anybody but a “blind creatur” like Marner would have seen the man prowling about; for how came he to leave his tinder- box in the ditch close by, if he hadn’t been lingering there? Doubtless he had made his observations when he saw Marner at the door. Anybody might know—and only look at him—that the weaver was a half-crazy miser. It was a wonder the peddler hadn’t murdered him; men of that sort, with rings in their ears, had been known for murderers often and often; there had been one tried at the ’sizes not so long ago but what there were people living who remembered it.

Godfrey Cass, indeed, entering the Rainbow during one of Mr. Snell’s frequently repeated recitals of his testimony, had treated it lightly, stating that he himself had bought a penknife of the peddler, and thought him a merry grinning fellow enough; it was all nonsense, he said, about the man’s evil looks. But this was spoken of in the village as the random talk of youth—“as if it was only Mr. Snell who had seen something odd about the peddler!” On the contrary, there were at least half a dozen who were ready to go before Justice Malam, and give in much more striking testimony than any the landlord could furnish. It was to be hoped Mr. Godfrey would not go to Tarley and throw cold water on what Mr. Snell said there, and so prevent the justice from drawing up a warrant. He was suspected of intending this, when, after midday, he was seen setting off on horseback in the direction of Tarley.

But by this time Godfrey’s interest in the robbery had faded before his growing anxiety about Dunstan and Wildfire, and he was going, not to Tarley, but to Batherley, unable to rest in uncertainty about them any longer. The possibility that Dunstan had played him the ugly trick of riding away with Wildfire, to return at the end of a month, when he had gambled away or otherwise squandered the price of the horse, was a fear that urged itself upon him more even than the thought of an accidental injury; and now