“I have seen him.  He gave me his vote.  I must call to thank him.  He seems a very bright pleasant little fellow.  And I understand he is a naturalist.”

“Mr. Farebrother, my dear sir, is a man deeply painful to contemplate.  I suppose there is not a clergyman in this country who has greater talents.”  Mr. Bulstrode paused and looked meditative.

“I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in Middlemarch,” said Lydgate, bluntly.

“What I desire,” Mr. Bulstrode continued, looking still more serious, “is that Mr. Farebrother’s attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—­of Mr. Tyke, in fact—­ and that no other spiritual aid should be called in.”

“As a medial man I could have no opinion on such a point unless I knew Mr. Tyke, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he was applied.”  Lydgate smiled, but he was bent on being circumspect.

“Of course you cannot enter fully into the merits of this measure at present.  But”—­here Mr. Bulstrode began to speak with a more chiselled emphasis—­“the subject is likely to be referred to the medical board of the infirmary, and what I trust I may ask of you is, that in virtue of the cooperation between us which I now look forward to, you will not, so far as you are concerned, be influenced by my opponents in this matter.”

“I hope I shall have nothing to do with clerical disputes,” said Lydgate.  “The path I have chosen is to work well in my own profession.”

“My responsibility, Mr. Lydgate, is of a broader kind.  With me, indeed, this question is one of sacred accountableness; whereas with my opponents, I have good reason to say that it is an occasion for gratifying a spirit of worldly opposition.  But I shall not therefore drop one iota of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that truth which an evil generation hates.  I have devoted myself to this object of hospital-improvement, but I will boldly confess to you, Mr. Lydgate, that I should have no interest in hospitals if I believed that nothing more was concerned therein than the cure of mortal diseases.  I have another ground of action, and in the face of persecution I will not conceal it.”

Mr. Bulstrode’s voice had become a loud and agitated whisper as he said the last words.

“There we certainly differ,” said Lydgate.  But he was not sorry that the door was now opened, and Mr. Vincy was announced.  That florid sociable personage was become more interesting to him since he had seen Rosamond.  Not that, like her, he had been weaving any future in which their lots were united; but a man naturally remembers a charming girl with pleasure, and is willing to dine where he may see her again.  Before he took leave, Mr. Vincy had given that invitation which he had been “in no hurry about,” for Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great favor.