Summarize the following text to main points and sub-points and make detailed explain for them:

y must be filled with guineas. Dunstan felt round the 
hole, to be certain that it held no more; then hastily replaced the bricks, 
and spread the sand over them. Hardly more than five minutes had 
passed since he entered the cottage, but it seemed to Dunstan like a long 
while; and though he was without any distinct recognition of the 
possibility that Marner might be alive, and might re-enter the cottage at 
any moment, he felt an undefinable dread laying hold on him, as he rose 
to his feet with the bags in his hand. He would hasten out into the 
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darkness, and then consider what he should do with the bags. He closed 
the door behind him immediately, that he might shut in the stream of 
light: a few steps would be enough to carry him beyond betrayal by the 
gleams from the shutter-chinks and the latch-hole. The rain and 
darkness had got thicker, and he was glad of it; though it was awkward 
walking with both hands filled, so that it was as much as he could do to 
grasp his whip along with one of the bags. But when he had gone a yard 
or two, he might take his time. So he stepped forward into the darkness. 
 
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CHAPTER 5 
 
When Dunstan Cass turned his back on the cottage, Silas Marner was not 
more than a hundred yards away from it, plodding along from the village 
with a sack thrown round his shoulders as an overcoat, and with a horn 
lantern in his hand. His legs were weary, but his mind was at ease, free 
from the presentiment of change. The sense of security more frequently 
springs from habit than from conviction, and for this reason it often 
subsists after such a change in the conditions as might have been 
expected to suggest alarm. The lapse of time during which a given event 
has not happened, is, in this logic of habit, constantly alleged as a reason 
why the event should never happen, even when the lapse of time is 
precisely the added condition which makes the event imminent. A man 
will tell you that he has worked in a mine for forty years unhurt by an 
accident as a reason why he should apprehend no danger, though the 
roof is beginning to sink; and it is often observable, that the older a man 
gets, the more difficult it is to him to retain a believing conception of his 
own death. This influence of habit was necessarily strong in a man whose 
life was so monotonous as Marner's—who saw no new people and heard 
of no new events to keep alive in him the idea of the unexpected and the 
changeful; and it explains simply enough, why his mind could be at ease, 
though he had left his house and his treasure more defenceless than 
usual. Silas was thinking with double complacency of his supper: first, 
because it would be hot and savoury; and secondly, because it would cost 
him nothing. For the little bit of pork was a present from that excellent 
housewife, Miss Priscilla Lammeter, to whom he had this day carried 
home a handsome piece of linen; and it was only on occasion of a present 
like this, that Silas indulged himself with roast-meat. Supper was his 
favourite meal, because it came at his time of revelry, when his heart 
warmed over his gold; whenever he had roast-meat, he always chose to 
have it for supper. But this evening, he had no sooner ingeniously 
knotted his string fast round his bit of pork, twisted the string according 
to rule over his door-key, passed it through the handle, and made it fast 
on the hanger, than he remembered that a piece of very fine twine was 
indispensable to his "setting up" a new piece of work in his loom early in 
the morning. It had slipped his memory, because, in coming from Mr. 
Lammeter's, he had not had to pass through the village; but to lose time 
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by going on errands in the morning was out of the question. It was a 
nasty fog to turn out into, but there were things Silas loved better than 
his own comfort; so, drawing his pork to the extremity of the hanger, and 
arming himself with his lantern and his old sack, he set out on what, in 
ordinary weather, would have been a twenty minutes' errand. He could 
not have locked his door without undoing his well-knotted string and 
retarding his supper; it was not worth his while to make that sacrifice. 
What thief would find his way to the Stone-pits on such a night as this? 
and why should he come on this particular night, when he had never 
come through all the fifteen years before? These questions were not 
distinctly present in Silas's mind; they merely serve to represent the 
vaguely-felt foundation of his freedom from anxiety. 
He reached his door in much satisfaction that his errand was done: he 
opened it, and to his short-sighted eyes everything remained as he had 
left it, except that the fire sent out a welcome increase of heat. He trod 
about the floor while putting by his lantern and throwing aside his hat 
and sack, so as to merge the marks of Dunstan's feet on the sand in the 
marks of his own nailed boots. Then he moved his pork nearer to the fire, 
and sat down to the agreeable business of tending the meat and warming 
himself at the same time. 
Any one who had looked at him as the red light shone upon his pale face, 
strange straining eyes, and meagre form, would perhaps have 
understood the mixture of contemptuous pity, dread, and suspicion with 
which he was regarded by his neighbours in Raveloe. Yet few men could 
be more harmless than poor Marner. In his truthful simple soul, not 
even the growing greed and worship of gold could beget any vice directly 
injurious to others. The light of his faith quite put out, and his affections 
made desolate, he had clung with all the force of his nature to his work 
and his money; and like all objects to which a man devotes himself, they 
had fashioned him into correspondence with themselves. His loom, as he 
wrought in it without ceasing, had in its turn wrought on him, and 
confirmed more and more the monotonous craving for its monotonous 
response. His gold, as he hung over it and saw it grow, gathered his 
power of loving together into a hard isolation like its own. 
As soon as he was warm he began to think it would be a long while to 
wait till after supper before he drew out his guineas, and it would be 
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pleasant to see them on the table before him as he ate his unwonted 
feast. For joy is the best of wine, and Silas's guineas were a golden wine 
of that sort. 
He rose and placed his candle unsuspectingly on the floor near his loom, 
swept away the sand without noticing any change, and removed the 
bricks. The sight of the empty hole made his heart leap violently, but the 
belief that his gold was gone could not come at once—only terror, and 
the eager effort to put an end to the terror. He passed his trembling hand 
all about the hole, trying to think it possible that his eyes had deceived 
him; then he held the candle in the hole and examined it curiously, 
trembling more and more. At last he shook so violently that he let fall the 
candle, and lifted his hands to his head, trying to steady himself, that he 
might think. Had he put his gold somewhere else, by a sudden resolution 
last night, and then forgotten it? A man falling into dark waters seeks a 
momentary footing even on sliding stones; and Silas, by acting as if he 
believed in false hopes, warded off the moment of despair. He searched 
in every corner, he turned his bed over, and shook it, and kneaded it; he 
looked in his brick oven where he laid his sticks. When there was no 
other place to be searched, he kneeled down again and felt once more all 
round the hole. There was no untried refuge left for a moment's shelter 
from the terrible truth. 
Yes, there was a sort of refuge which always comes with the prostration 
of thought under an overpowering passion: it was that expectation of 
impossibilities, that belief in contradictory images, which is still distinct 
from madness, because it is capable of being dissipated by the external 
fact. Silas got up from his knees trembling, and looked round at the 
table: didn't the gold lie there after all? The table was bare. Then he 
turned and looked behind him—looked all round his dwelling, seeming 
to strain his brown eyes after some possible appearance of the bags 
where he had already sought them in vain. He could see every object in 
his cottage—and his gold was not there. 
Again he put his trembling hands to his head, and gave a wild ringing 
scream, the cry of desolation. For a few moments after, he stood 
motionless; but the cry had relieved him from the first maddening 
pressure of the truth. He turned, and tottered towards his loom, and got 
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into the seat where he worked, instinctively seeking this as the strongest 
assurance of reality. 
And now that all the false hopes had vanished, and the first shock of 
certainty was past, the idea of a thief began to present itself, and he 
entertained it eagerly, because a thief might be caught and made to 
restore the gold. The thought brought some new strength with it, 

Summary :