It was then, when all purpose of life was gone, that Silas got into the
habit of looking towards the money he received for his weaving, and
grasping it with a sense of fulfilled effort. Gradually, the guineas,
the crowns, and the half-crowns, grew to a heap, and Marner drew less
and less for his own wants, trying to solve the problem of keeping
himself strong enough to work sixteen hours a day on as small an outlay
as possible. He handled his coins, he counted them, till their form and
colour were like the satisfaction of a thirst to him; but it was only in
the night, when his work was done, that he drew them out, to enjoy their
companionship. He had taken up some bricks in his floor underneath his
loom, and here he had made a hole in which he set the iron pot that
contained his guineas and silver coins, covering the bricks with sand
whenever he replaced them.

So, year after year, Silas Marner lived in this solitude, his guineas
rising in the iron pot, and his life narrowing and hardening itself more
and more as it became reduced to the functions of weaving and hoarding.

This is the history of Silas Marner until the fifteenth year after he
came to Raveloe. Then, about the Christmas of that year, a second great
change came over his life.

It was a raw, foggy night, with rain, and Silas was returning from the
village, plodding along, with a sack thrown round his shoulders, and
with a horn lantern in his hand. His legs were weary, but his mind was
at ease with the sense of security that springs from habit. Supper was
his favourite meal, because it was his time of revelry, when his heart
warmed over his gold.