prompt:
Chapter: 1st Gent. Where lies the power, there let the blame lie too.
    2d Gent.  Nay, power is relative; you cannot fright
                  The coming pest with border fortresses,
                  Or catch your carp with subtle argument.
                  All force is twain in one: cause is not cause
                  Unless effect be there; and action's self
                  Must needs contain a passive.  So command
                  Exists but with obedience."

Even if Lydgate had been inclined to be quite open about his affairs,
he knew that it would have hardly been in Mr. Farebrother's power to
give him the help he immediately wanted.  With the year's bills coming
in from his tradesmen, with Dover's threatening hold on his furniture,
and with nothing to depend on but slow dribbling payments from patients
who must not be offended--for the handsome fees he had had from
Freshitt Hall and Lowick Manor had been easily absorbed--nothing less
than a thousand pounds would have freed him from actual embarrassment,
and left a residue which, according to the favorite phrase of
hopefulness in such circumstances, would have given him "time to look
about him."

Naturally, the merry Christmas bringing the happy New Year, when
fellow-citizens expect to be paid for the trouble and goods they have
smilingly bestowed on their neighbors, had so tightened the pressure of
sordid cares on Lydgate's mind that it was hardly possible for him to
think unbrokenly of any other subject, even the most habitual and
soliciting.  He was not an ill-tempered man; his intellectual activity,
the ardent kindness of his heart, as well as his strong frame, would
always, under tolerably easy conditions, have kept him above the petty
uncontrolled susceptibilities which make bad temper.  But he was now a
prey to that worst irritation which arises not simply from annoyances,
but from the second consciousness underlying those annoyances, of
wasted energy and a degrading preoccupation, which was the reverse of
all his former purposes.  "_This_ is what I am thinking of; and _that_
is what I might have been thinking of," was the bitter incessant murmur
within him, making every difficulty a double goad to impatience.

Some gentlemen have made an amazing figure in literature by general
discontent with the universe as a trap of dulness into which their
great souls have fallen by mistake; but the sense of a stupendous self
and an insignificant world may have its consolations.  Lydgate's
discontent was much harder to bear: it was the sense that there was a
grand existence in thought and effective action lying around him, while
his self was being narrowed into the miserable isolation of egoistic
fears, and vulgar anxieties for events that might allay such fears.
His troubles will perhaps appear miserably sordid, and beneath the
attention of lofty persons who can know nothing of debt except on a
magnificent scale.  Doubtless they were sordid; and for the majority,
who are not lofty, there is no escape from sordidness but by being free
from money-craving, with all its base hopes and temptations, its
watching for death, its hinted requests, its horse-dealer's desire to
make bad work pass for good, its seeking for function which ought to be
another's, its compulsion often to long for Luck in the shape of a wide
calamity.

It was because Lydgate writhed under the idea of getting his neck
beneath this vile yoke that he had fallen into a bitter moody state
which was continually widening Rosamond's alienation from him.  After
the first disclosure about the bill of sale, he had made many efforts
to draw her into sympathy with him about possible measures for
narrowing their expenses, and with the threatening approach of
Christmas his propositions grew more and more definite.  "We two can do
with only one servant, and live on very little," he said, "and I shall
manage with one horse."  For Lydgate, as we have seen, had begun to
reason, with a more distinct vision, about the expenses of living, and
any share of pride he had given to appearances of that sort was meagre
compared with the pride which made him revolt from exposure as a
debtor, or from asking men to help him with their money.

"Of course you can dismiss the other two servants, if you like," said
Rosamond; "but I should have thought it would be very injurious to your
position for us to live in a poor way.  You must expect your practice
to be lowered."

"My dear Rosamond, it is not a question of choice.  We have begun too
expensively.  Peacock, you know, lived in a much smaller house than
this.  It is my fault: I ought to have known better, and I deserve a
thrashing--if there were anybody who had a right to give it me--for
bringing you into the necessity of living in a poorer way than you have
been used to.  But we married because we loved each other, I suppose.
And that may help us to pull along till things get better.  Come, dear,
put down that work and come to me."

He was really in chill gloom about her at that moment, but he dreaded a
future without affection, and was determined to resist the oncoming of
division between them.  Rosamond obeyed him, and he took her on his
knee, but in her secret soul she was utterly aloof from him.  The poor
thing saw only that the world was not ordered to her liking, and
Lydgate was part of that world.  But he held her waist with one hand
and laid the other gently on both of hers; for this rather abrupt man
had much tenderness in his manners towards women, seeming to have
always present in his imagination the weakness of their frames and the
delicate poise of their health both in body and mind.  And he began
again to speak persuasively.

"I find, now I look into things a little, Rosy, that it is wonderful
what an amount of money slips away in our housekeeping.  I suppose the
servants are careless, and we have had a great many people coming.  But
there must be many in our rank who manage with much less: they must do
with commoner things, I suppose, and look after the scraps.  It seems,
money goes but a little way in these matters, for Wrench has everything
as plain as possible, and he has a very large practice."

"Oh, if you think of living as the Wrenches do!" said Rosamond, with a
little turn of her neck.  "But I have heard you express your disgust at
that way of living."

"Yes, they have bad taste in everything--they make economy look ugly.
We needn't do that.  I only meant that they avoid expenses, although
Wrench has a capital practice."

"Why should not you have a good practice, Tertius?  Mr. Peacock had.
You should be more careful not to offend people, and you should send
out medicines as the others do.  I am sure you began well, and you got
several good houses.  It cannot answer to be eccentric; you should
think what will be generally liked," said Rosamond, in a decided little
tone of admonition.

Lydgate's anger rose: he was prepared to be indulgent towards feminine
weakness, but not towards feminine dictation.  The shallowness of a
waternixie's soul may have a charm until she becomes didactic.  But he
controlled himself, and only said, with a touch of despotic firmness--

"What I am to do in my practice, Rosy, it is for me to judge.  That is
not the question between us.  It is enough for you to know that our
income is likely to be a very narrow one--hardly four hundred, perhaps
less, for a long time to come, and we must try to re-arrange our lives
in accordance with that fact."

Rosamond was silent for a moment or two, looking before her, and then
said, "My uncle Bulstrode ought to allow you a salary for the time you
give to the Hospital: it is not right that you should work for nothing."

"It was understood from the beginning that my services would be
gratuitous.  That, again, need not enter into our discussion.  I have
pointed out what is the only probability," said Lydgate, impatiently.
Then checking himself, he went on more quietly--

"I think I see one resource which would free us from a good deal of the
present difficulty.  I hear that young Ned Plymdale is going to be
married to Miss Sophy Toller.  They are rich, and it is not often that
a good house is vacant in Middlemarch.  I feel sure that they would be
glad to take this house from us with most of our furniture, and they
would be willing to pay handsomely for the lease.  I can employ
Trumbull to speak to Plymdale about it."

Rosamond left her husband's knee and walked slowly to the other end of
the room; when she turned round and walked towards him it was evident
that the tears had come, and that she was biting her under-lip and
clasping her hands to keep herself from crying.  Lydgate was
wretched--shaken with anger and yet feeling that it would be unmanly to
vent the anger just now.

"I am very sorry, Rosamond; I know this is painful."

"I thought, at least, when I had borne to send the plate back and have
that man taking an inventory of the furniture--I should have thought
_that_ would suffice."

"I explained it to you at the time, dear.  That was only a security and
behind that security there is a debt.  And that debt must be paid
within the next few months, else we shall have our furniture sold.  If
young Plymdale will take our house and most of our furniture, we shall
be able to pay that debt, and some others too, and we shall be quit of
a place too expensive for us.  We might take a smaller house: Trumbull,
I know, has a very decent one to let at thirty pounds a-year, and this
is ninety."  Lydgate uttered this speech in the curt hammering way with
which we usually try to nail down a vague mind to imperative facts.
Tears rolled silently down Rosamond's cheeks; she just pressed her
handkerchief against them, and stood looking at the large vase on the
mantel-piece. It was a moment of more intense bitterness than she had
ever felt before.  At last she said, without hurry and with careful
emphasis--

"I never could have believed that you would like to act in that way."

"Like it?" burst out Lydgate, rising from his chair, thrusting his
hands in his pockets and stalking away from the hearth; "it's not a
question of liking.  Of course, I don't like it; it's the only thing I
can do."  He wheeled round there, and turned towards her.

"I should have thought there were many other means than that," said
Rosamond.  "Let us have a sale and leave Middlemarch altogether."

"To do what?  What is the use of my leaving my work in Middlemarch to
go where I have none?  We should be just as penniless elsewhere as we
are here," said Lydgate still more angrily.

"If we are to be in that position it will be entirely your own doing,
Tertius," said Rosamond, turning round to speak with the fullest
conviction.  "You will not behave as you ought to do to your own
family.  You offended Captain Lydgate.  Sir Godwin was very kind to me
when we were at Quallingham, and I am sure if you showed proper regard
to him and told him your affairs, he would do anything for you.  But
rather than that, you like giving up our house and furniture to Mr. Ned
Plymdale."

There was something like fierceness in Lydgate's eyes, as he answered
with new violence, "Well, then, if you will have it so, I do like it.
I admit that I like it better than making a fool of myself by going to
beg where it's of no use.  Understand then, that it is what I _like to
do._"

There was a tone in the last sentence which was equivalent to the
clutch of his strong hand on Rosamond's delicate arm.  But for all
that, his will was not a whit stronger than hers.  She immediately
walked out of the room in silence, but with an intense determination to
hinder what Lydgate liked to do.

He went out of the house, but as his blood cooled he felt that the
chief result of the discussion was a deposit of dread within him at the
idea of opening with his wife in future subjects which might again urge
him to violent speech.  It was as if a fracture in delicate crystal had
begun, and he was afraid of any movement that might make it fatal.  His
marriage would be a mere piece of bitter irony if they could not go on
loving each other.  He had long ago made up his mind to what he thought
was her negative character--her want of sensibility, which showed
itself in disregard both of his specific wishes and of his general
aims.  The first great disappointment had been borne: the tender
devotedness and docile adoration of the ideal wife must be renounced,
and life must be taken up on a lower stage of expectation, as it is by
men who have lost their limbs.  But the real wife had not only her
claims, she had still a hold on his heart, and it was his intense
desire that the hold should remain strong.  In marriage, the certainty,
"She will never love me much," is easier to bear than the fear, "I
shall love her no more."  Hence, after that outburst, his inward effort
was entirely to excuse her, and to blame the hard circumstances which
were partly his fault.  He tried that evening, by petting her, to heal
the wound he had made in the morning, and it was not in Rosamond's
nature to be repellent or sulky; indeed, she welcomed the signs that
her husband loved her and was under control.  But this was something
quite distinct from loving _him_. Lydgate would not have chosen soon to
recur to the plan of parting with the house; he was resolved to carry
it out, and say as little more about it as possible.  But Rosamond
herself touched on it at breakfast by saying, mildly--

"Have you spoken to Trumbull yet?"

"No," said Lydgate, "but I shall call on him as I go by this morning.
No time must be lost."  He took Rosamond's question as a sign that she
withdrew her inward opposition, and kissed her head caressingly when he
got up to go away.

As soon as it was late enough to make a call, Rosamond went to Mrs.
Plymdale, Mr. Ned's mother, and entered with pretty congratulations
into the subject of the coming marriage.  Mrs. Plymdale's maternal view
was, that Rosamond might possibly now have retrospective glimpses of
her own folly; and feeling the advantages to be at present all on the
side of her son, was too kind a woman not to behave graciously.

"Yes, Ned is most happy, I must say.  And Sophy Toller is all I could
desire in a daughter-in-law. Of course her father is able to do
something handsome for her--that is only what would be expected with a
brewery like his.  And the connection is everything we should desire.
But that is not what I look at.  She is such a very nice girl--no airs,
no pretensions, though on a level with the first.  I don't mean with
the titled aristocracy.  I see very little good in people aiming out of
their own sphere.  I mean that Sophy is equal to the best in the town,
and she is contented with that."

"I have always thought her very agreeable," said Rosamond.

"I look upon it as a reward for Ned, who never held his head too high,
that he should have got into the very best connection," continued Mrs.
Plymdale, her native sharpness softened by a fervid sense that she was
taking a correct view.  "And such particular people as the Tollers are,
they might have objected because some of our friends are not theirs.
It is well known that your aunt Bulstrode and I have been intimate from
our youth, and Mr. Plymdale has been always on Mr. Bulstrode's side.
And I myself prefer serious opinions.  But the Tollers have welcomed
Ned all the same."

"I am sure he is a very deserving, well-principled young man," said
Rosamond, with a neat air of patronage in return for Mrs. Plymdale's
wholesome corrections.

"Oh, he has not the style of a captain in the army, or that sort of
carriage as if everybody was beneath him, or that showy kind of
talking, and singing, and intellectual talent.  But I am thankful he
has not.  It is a poor preparation both for here and Hereafter."

"Oh dear, yes; appearances have very little to do with happiness," said
Rosamond.  "I think there is every prospect of their being a happy
couple.  What house will they take?"

"Oh, as for that, they must put up with what they can get.  They have
been looking at the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's;
it belongs to him, and he is putting it nicely in repair.  I suppose
they are not likely to hear of a better.  Indeed, I think Ned will
decide the matter to-day."

"I should think it is a nice house; I like St. Peter's Place."

"Well, it is near the Church, and a genteel situation.  But the windows
are narrow, and it is all ups and downs.  You don't happen to know of
any other that would be at liberty?" said Mrs. Plymdale, fixing her
round black eyes on Rosamond with the animation of a sudden thought in
them.

"Oh no; I hear so little of those things."

Rosamond had not foreseen that question and answer in setting out to
pay her visit; she had simply meant to gather any information which
would help her to avert the parting with her own house under
circumstances thoroughly disagreeable to her.  As to the untruth in her
reply, she no more reflected on it than she did on the untruth there
was in her saying that appearances had very little to do with
happiness.  Her object, she was convinced, was thoroughly justifiable:
it was Lydgate whose intention was inexcusable; and there was a plan in
her mind which, when she had carried it out fully, would prove how very
false a step it would have been for him to have descended from his
position.

She returned home by Mr. Borthrop Trumbull's office, meaning to call
there.  It was the first time in her life that Rosamond had thought of
doing anything in the form of business, but she felt equal to the
occasion.  That she should be obliged to do what she intensely
disliked, was an idea which turned her quiet tenacity into active
invention.  Here was a case in which it could not be enough simply to
disobey and be serenely, placidly obstinate: she must act according to
her judgment, and she said to herself that her judgment was
right--"indeed, if it had not been, she would not have wished to act on
it."

Mr. Trumbull was in the back-room of his office, and received Rosamond
with his finest manners, not only because he had much sensibility to
her charms, but because the good-natured fibre in him was stirred by
his certainty that Lydgate was in difficulties, and that this
uncommonly pretty woman--this young lady with the highest personal
attractions--was likely to feel the pinch of trouble--to find herself
involved in circumstances beyond her control.  He begged her to do him
the honor to take a seat, and stood before her trimming and comporting
himself with an eager solicitude, which was chiefly benevolent.
Rosamond's first question was, whether her husband had called on Mr.
Trumbull that morning, to speak about disposing of their house.

"Yes, ma'am, yes, he did; he did so," said the good auctioneer, trying
to throw something soothing into his iteration.  "I was about to fulfil
his order, if possible, this afternoon.  He wished me not to
procrastinate."

"I called to tell you not to go any further, Mr. Trumbull; and I beg of
you not to mention what has been said on the subject.  Will you oblige
me?"

"Certainly I will, Mrs. Lydgate, certainly.  Confidence is sacred with
me on business or any other topic.  I am then to consider the
commission withdrawn?" said Mr. Trumbull, adjusting the long ends of
his blue cravat with both hands, and looking at Rosamond deferentially.

"Yes, if you please.  I find that Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house--the
one in St. Peter's Place next to Mr. Hackbutt's. Mr. Lydgate would be
annoyed that his orders should be fulfilled uselessly.  And besides
that, there are other circumstances which render the proposal
unnecessary."

"Very good, Mrs. Lydgate, very good.  I am at your commands, whenever
you require any service of me," said Mr. Trumbull, who felt pleasure in
conjecturing that some new resources had been opened.  "Rely on me, I
beg.  The affair shall go no further."

That evening Lydgate was a little comforted by observing that Rosamond
was more lively than she had usually been of late, and even seemed
interested in doing what would please him without being asked.  He
thought, "If she will be happy and I can rub through, what does it all
signify?  It is only a narrow swamp that we have to pass in a long
journey.  If I can get my mind clear again, I shall do."

He was so much cheered that he began to search for an account of
experiments which he had long ago meant to look up, and had neglected
out of that creeping self-despair which comes in the train of petty
anxieties.  He felt again some of the old delightful absorption in a
far-reaching inquiry, while Rosamond played the quiet music which was
as helpful to his meditation as the plash of an oar on the evening
lake.  It was rather late; he had pushed away all the books, and was
looking at the fire with his hands clasped behind his head in
forgetfulness of everything except the construction of a new
controlling experiment, when Rosamond, who had left the piano and was
leaning back in her chair watching him, said--

"Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house already."

Lydgate, startled and jarred, looked up in silence for a moment, like a
man who has been disturbed in his sleep.  Then flushing with an
unpleasant consciousness, he asked--

"How do you know?"

"I called at Mrs. Plymdale's this morning, and she told me that he had
taken the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's."

Lydgate was silent.  He drew his hands from behind his head and pressed
them against the hair which was hanging, as it was apt to do, in a mass
on his forehead, while he rested his elbows on his knees.  He was
feeling bitter disappointment, as if he had opened a door out of a
suffocating place and had found it walled up; but he also felt sure
that Rosamond was pleased with the cause of his disappointment.  He
preferred not looking at her and not speaking, until he had got over
the first spasm of vexation.  After all, he said in his bitterness,
what can a woman care about so much as house and furniture? a husband
without them is an absurdity.  When he looked up and pushed his hair
aside, his dark eyes had a miserable blank non-expectance of sympathy
in them, but he only said, coolly--

"Perhaps some one else may turn up.  I told Trumbull to be on the
look-out if he failed with Plymdale."

Rosamond made no remark.  She trusted to the chance that nothing more
would pass between her husband and the auctioneer until some issue
should have justified her interference; at any rate, she had hindered
the event which she immediately dreaded.  After a pause, she said--

"How much money is it that those disagreeable people want?"

"What disagreeable people?"

"Those who took the list--and the others.  I mean, how much money would
satisfy them so that you need not be troubled any more?"

Lydgate surveyed her for a moment, as if he were looking for symptoms,
and then said, "Oh, if I could have got six hundred from Plymdale for
furniture and as premium, I might have managed.  I could have paid off
Dover, and given enough on account to the others to make them wait
patiently, if we contracted our expenses."

"But I mean how much should you want if we stayed in this house?"

"More than I am likely to get anywhere," said Lydgate, with rather a
grating sarcasm in his tone.  It angered him to perceive that
Rosamond's mind was wandering over impracticable wishes instead of
facing possible efforts.

"Why should you not mention the sum?" said Rosamond, with a mild
indication that she did not like his manners.

"Well," said Lydgate in a guessing tone, "it would take at least a
thousand to set me at ease.  But," he added, incisively, "I have to
consider what I shall do without it, not with it."

Rosamond said no more.

But the next day she carried out her plan of writing to Sir Godwin
Lydgate.  Since the Captain's visit, she had received a letter from
him, and also one from Mrs. Mengan, his married sister, condoling with
her on the loss of her baby, and expressing vaguely the hope that they
should see her again at Quallingham.  Lydgate had told her that this
politeness meant nothing; but she was secretly convinced that any
backwardness in Lydgate's family towards him was due to his cold and
contemptuous behavior, and she had answered the letters in her most
charming manner, feeling some confidence that a specific invitation
would follow.  But there had been total silence.  The Captain evidently
was not a great penman, and Rosamond reflected that the sisters might
have been abroad.  However, the season was come for thinking of friends
at home, and at any rate Sir Godwin, who had chucked her under the
chin, and pronounced her to be like the celebrated beauty, Mrs. Croly,
who had made a conquest of him in 1790, would be touched by any appeal
from her, and would find it pleasant for her sake to behave as he ought
to do towards his nephew.  Rosamond was naively convinced of what an
old gentleman ought to do to prevent her from suffering annoyance.  And
she wrote what she considered the most judicious letter possible--one
which would strike Sir Godwin as a proof of her excellent sense--pointing
out how desirable it was that Tertius should quit such a place
as Middlemarch for one more fitted to his talents, how the unpleasant
character of the inhabitants had hindered his professional success, and
how in consequence he was in money difficulties, from which it would
require a thousand pounds thoroughly to extricate him.  She did not say
that Tertius was unaware of her intention to write; for she had the
idea that his supposed sanction of her letter would be in accordance
with what she did say of his great regard for his uncle Godwin as the
relative who had always been his best friend.  Such was the force of
Poor Rosamond's tactics now she applied them to affairs.

This had happened before the party on New Year's Day, and no answer had
yet come from Sir Godwin.  But on the morning of that day Lydgate had
to learn that Rosamond had revoked his order to Borthrop Trumbull.
Feeling it necessary that she should be gradually accustomed to the
idea of their quitting the house in Lowick Gate, he overcame his
reluctance to speak to her again on the subject, and when they were
breakfasting said--

"I shall try to see Trumbull this morning, and tell him to advertise
the house in the 'Pioneer' and the 'Trumpet.' If the thing were
advertised, some one might be inclined to take it who would not
otherwise have thought of a change.  In these country places many
people go on in their old houses when their families are too large for
them, for want of knowing where they can find another.  And Trumbull
seems to have got no bite at all."

Rosamond knew that the inevitable moment was come.  "I ordered Trumbull
not to inquire further," she said, with a careful calmness which was
evidently defensive.

Lydgate stared at her in mute amazement.  Only half an hour before he
had been fastening up her plaits for her, and talking the "little
language" of affection, which Rosamond, though not returning it,
accepted as if she had been a serene and lovely image, now and then
miraculously dimpling towards her votary.  With such fibres still astir
in him, the shock he received could not at once be distinctly anger; it
was confused pain.  He laid down the knife and fork with which he was
carving, and throwing himself back in his chair, said at last, with a
cool irony in his tone--

"May I ask when and why you did so?"

"When I knew that the Plymdales had taken a house, I called to tell him
not to mention ours to them; and at the same time I told him not to let
the affair go on any further.  I knew that it would be very injurious
to you if it were known that you wished to part with your house and
furniture, and I had a very strong objection to it.  I think that was
reason enough."

"It was of no consequence then that I had told you imperative reasons
of another kind; of no consequence that I had come to a different
conclusion, and given an order accordingly?" said Lydgate, bitingly,
the thunder and lightning gathering about his brow and eyes.

The effect of any one's anger on Rosamond had always been to make her
shrink in cold dislike, and to become all the more calmly correct, in
the conviction that she was not the person to misbehave whatever others
might do.  She replied--

"I think I had a perfect right to speak on a subject which concerns me
at least as much as you."

"Clearly--you had a right to speak, but only to me.  You had no right
to contradict my orders secretly, and treat me as if I were a fool,"
said Lydgate, in the same tone as before.  Then with some added scorn,
"Is it possible to make you understand what the consequences will be?
Is it of any use for me to tell you again why we must try to part with
the house?"

"It is not necessary for you to tell me again," said Rosamond, in a
voice that fell and trickled like cold water-drops. "I remembered what
you said.  You spoke just as violently as you do now.  But that does
not alter my opinion that you ought to try every other means rather
than take a step which is so painful to me.  And as to advertising the
house, I think it would be perfectly degrading to you."

"And suppose I disregard your opinion as you disregard mine?"

"You can do so, of course.  But I think you ought to have told me
before we were married that you would place me in the worst position,
rather than give up your own will."

Lydgate did not speak, but tossed his head on one side, and twitched
the corners of his mouth in despair.  Rosamond, seeing that he was not
looking at her, rose and set his cup of coffee before him; but he took
no notice of it, and went on with an inward drama and argument,
occasionally moving in his seat, resting one arm on the table, and
rubbing his hand against his hair.  There was a conflux of emotions and
thoughts in him that would not let him either give thorough way to his
anger or persevere with simple rigidity of resolve.  Rosamond took
advantage of his silence.

"When we were married everyone felt that your position was very high.
I could not have imagined then that you would want to sell our
furniture, and take a house in Bride Street, where the rooms are like
cages.  If we are to live in that way let us at least leave
Middlemarch."

"These would be very strong considerations," said Lydgate, half
ironically--still there was a withered paleness about his lips as he
looked at his coffee, and did not drink--"these would be very strong
considerations if I did not happen to be in debt."

"Many persons must have been in debt in the same way, but if they are
respectable, people trust them.  I am sure I have heard papa say that
the Torbits were in debt, and they went on very well.  It cannot be
good to act rashly," said Rosamond, with serene wisdom.

Lydgate sat paralyzed by opposing impulses: since no reasoning he could
apply to Rosamond seemed likely to conquer her assent, he wanted to
smash and grind some object on which he could at least produce an
impression, or else to tell her brutally that he was master, and she
must obey.  But he not only dreaded the effect of such extremities on
their mutual life--he had a growing dread of Rosamond's quiet elusive
obstinacy, which would not allow any assertion of power to be final;
and again, she had touched him in a spot of keenest feeling by implying
that she had been deluded with a false vision of happiness in marrying
him.  As to saying that he was master, it was not the fact.  The very
resolution to which he had wrought himself by dint of logic and
honorable pride was beginning to relax under her torpedo contact.  He
swallowed half his cup of coffee, and then rose to go.

"I may at least request that you will not go to Trumbull at
present--until it has been seen that there are no other means," said
Rosamond.  Although she was not subject to much fear, she felt it safer
not to betray that she had written to Sir Godwin.  "Promise me that you
will not go to him for a few weeks, or without telling me."

Lydgate gave a short laugh.  "I think it is I who should exact a
promise that you will do nothing without telling me," he said, turning
his eyes sharply upon her, and then moving to the door.

"You remember that we are going to dine at papa's," said Rosamond,
wishing that he should turn and make a more thorough concession to her.
But he only said "Oh yes," impatiently, and went away.  She held it to
be very odious in him that he did not think the painful propositions he
had had to make to her were enough, without showing so unpleasant a
temper.  And when she put the moderate request that he would defer
going to Trumbull again, it was cruel in him not to assure her of what
he meant to do.  She was convinced of her having acted in every way for
the best; and each grating or angry speech of Lydgate's served only as
an addition to the register of offences in her mind.  Poor Rosamond for
months had begun to associate her husband with feelings of
disappointment, and the terribly inflexible relation of marriage had
lost its charm of encouraging delightful dreams.  It had freed her from
the disagreeables of her father's house, but it had not given her
everything that she had wished and hoped.  The Lydgate with whom she
had been in love had been a group of airy conditions for her, most of
which had disappeared, while their place had been taken by every-day
details which must be lived through slowly from hour to hour, not
floated through with a rapid selection of favorable aspects.  The
habits of Lydgate's profession, his home preoccupation with scientific
subjects, which seemed to her almost like a morbid vampire's taste, his
peculiar views of things which had never entered into the dialogue of
courtship--all these continually alienating influences, even without
the fact of his having placed himself at a disadvantage in the town,
and without that first shock of revelation about Dover's debt, would
have made his presence dull to her.  There was another presence which
ever since the early days of her marriage, until four months ago, had
been an agreeable excitement, but that was gone: Rosamond would not
confess to herself how much the consequent blank had to do with her
utter ennui; and it seemed to her (perhaps she was right) that an
invitation to Quallingham, and an opening for Lydgate to settle
elsewhere than in Middlemarch--in London, or somewhere likely to be
free from unpleasantness--would satisfy her quite well, and make her
indifferent to the absence of Will Ladislaw, towards whom she felt some
resentment for his exaltation of Mrs. Casaubon.

That was the state of things with Lydgate and Rosamond on the New
Year's Day when they dined at her father's, she looking mildly neutral
towards him in remembrance of his ill-tempered behavior at breakfast,
and he carrying a much deeper effect from the inward conflict in which
that morning scene was only one of many epochs.  His flushed effort
while talking to Mr. Farebrother--his effort after the cynical pretence
that all ways of getting money are essentially the same, and that
chance has an empire which reduces choice to a fool's illusion--was but
the symptom of a wavering resolve, a benumbed response to the old
stimuli of enthusiasm.

What was he to do?  He saw even more keenly than Rosamond did the
dreariness of taking her into the small house in Bride Street, where
she would have scanty furniture around her and discontent within: a
life of privation and life with Rosamond were two images which had
become more and more irreconcilable ever since the threat of privation
had disclosed itself.  But even if his resolves had forced the two
images into combination, the useful preliminaries to that hard change
were not visibly within reach.  And though he had not given the promise
which his wife had asked for, he did not go again to Trumbull.  He even
began to think of taking a rapid journey to the North and seeing Sir
Godwin.  He had once believed that nothing would urge him into making
an application for money to his uncle, but he had not then known the
full pressure of alternatives yet more disagreeable.  He could not
depend on the effect of a letter; it was only in an interview, however
disagreeable this might be to himself, that he could give a thorough
explanation and could test the effectiveness of kinship.  No sooner had
Lydgate begun to represent this step to himself as the easiest than
there was a reaction of anger that he--he who had long ago determined
to live aloof from such abject calculations, such self-interested
anxiety about the inclinations and the pockets of men with whom he had
been proud to have no aims in common--should have fallen not simply to
their level, but to the level of soliciting them.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Even if he weren't too proud to ask for help, Lydgate knows that there's no way Farebrother could get him out of debt. Lydgate needs a solid thousand pounds to do that. Lydgate's moodiness about their financial troubles is only widening the distance between himself and Rosamond. So when he tells her that they should try to sell their house and its furniture to Ned Plymdale and his young bride-to-be so that they can take a smaller house, she bursts out and says it's all his fault for not being like the other doctors in Middlemarch. Lydgate's angry with her for being so selfish and unhelpful, but he really does feel guilty for having married her when he couldn't afford to give her the luxuries she was used to. Lydgate goes to Mr. Trumbull, the auctioneer and landlord of Middlemarch, to ask him about arranging a transfer of their lease to Ned Plymdale. Meanwhile, Rosamond goes to Ned's mother to congratulate her on her son's wedding, and to ask what house they were likely to take. Having discovered that the young couple was planning to rent a house at the other end of town , Rosamond feels justified in going to Trumbull behind her husband's back to cancel the request. She tells Lydgate that evening that the Plymdales have already chosen a house, but not that she cancelled the request with Trumbull to be on the lookout for other potential buyers. She asks her husband how much money would get them out of trouble, and he tells her a thousand would do it, but that he's not likely to find a thousand anytime soon. She resolves to write to his uncle for money without telling him. After all, she reasons, Sir Godwin Lydgate was very nice to her when they visited after the wedding, and his son, Captain Lydgate, had visited them. She doesn't mention, in her letter, that Lydgate was unaware that she was writing. A few days later, Rosamond finally tells Lydgate that she cancelled the order for Trumbull to be on the lookout for a buyer for their house, and Lydgate is angry that she did that behind his back. She decides not to tell him that she's written to Sir Godwin, but asks him not to go to Trumbull again for a few weeks. This is the state of things between them on the night of the New Year's party at the Vincys'.


prompt:
Chapter: "One of us two must bowen douteless,
     And, sith a man is more reasonable
     Than woman is, ye [men] moste be suffrable.
                             --CHAUCER: Canterbury Tales.

The bias of human nature to be slow in correspondence triumphs even
over the present quickening in the general pace of things: what wonder
then that in 1832 old Sir Godwin Lydgate was slow to write a letter
which was of consequence to others rather than to himself?  Nearly
three weeks of the new year were gone, and Rosamond, awaiting an answer
to her winning appeal, was every day disappointed.  Lydgate, in total
ignorance of her expectations, was seeing the bills come in, and
feeling that Dover's use of his advantage over other creditors was
imminent.  He had never mentioned to Rosamond his brooding purpose of
going to Quallingham: he did not want to admit what would appear to her
a concession to her wishes after indignant refusal, until the last
moment; but he was really expecting to set off soon.  A slice of the
railway would enable him to manage the whole journey and back in four
days.

But one morning after Lydgate had gone out, a letter came addressed to
him, which Rosamond saw clearly to be from Sir Godwin.  She was full of
hope.  Perhaps there might be a particular note to her enclosed; but
Lydgate was naturally addressed on the question of money or other aid,
and the fact that he was written to, nay, the very delay in writing at
all, seemed to certify that the answer was thoroughly compliant.  She
was too much excited by these thoughts to do anything but light
stitching in a warm corner of the dining-room, with the outside of this
momentous letter lying on the table before her.  About twelve she heard
her husband's step in the passage, and tripping to open the door, she
said in her lightest tones, "Tertius, come in here--here is a letter
for you."

"Ah?" he said, not taking off his hat, but just turning her round
within his arm to walk towards the spot where the letter lay.  "My
uncle Godwin!" he exclaimed, while Rosamond reseated herself, and
watched him as he opened the letter.  She had expected him to be
surprised.

While Lydgate's eyes glanced rapidly over the brief letter, she saw his
face, usually of a pale brown, taking on a dry whiteness; with nostrils
and lips quivering he tossed down the letter before her, and said
violently--

"It will be impossible to endure life with you, if you will always be
acting secretly--acting in opposition to me and hiding your actions."

He checked his speech and turned his back on her--then wheeled round
and walked about, sat down, and got up again restlessly, grasping hard
the objects deep down in his pockets.  He was afraid of saying
something irremediably cruel.

Rosamond too had changed color as she read.  The letter ran in this
way:--

"DEAR TERTIUS,--Don't set your wife to write to me when you have
anything to ask.  It is a roundabout wheedling sort of thing which I
should not have credited you with.  I never choose to write to a woman
on matters of business.  As to my supplying you with a thousand pounds,
or only half that sum, I can do nothing of the sort.  My own family
drains me to the last penny.  With two younger sons and three
daughters, I am not likely to have cash to spare.  You seem to have got
through your own money pretty quickly, and to have made a mess where
you are; the sooner you go somewhere else the better.  But I have
nothing to do with men of your profession, and can't help you there.  I
did the best I could for you as guardian, and let you have your own way
in taking to medicine.  You might have gone into the army or the
Church.  Your money would have held out for that, and there would have
been a surer ladder before you.  Your uncle Charles has had a grudge
against you for not going into his profession, but not I. I have always
wished you well, but you must consider yourself on your own legs
entirely now.

                Your affectionate uncle,
                        GODWIN LYDGATE."

When Rosamond had finished reading the letter she sat quite still, with
her hands folded before her, restraining any show of her keen
disappointment, and intrenching herself in quiet passivity under her
husband's wrath.  Lydgate paused in his movements, looked at her again,
and said, with biting severity--

"Will this be enough to convince you of the harm you may do by secret
meddling?  Have you sense enough to recognize now your incompetence to
judge and act for me--to interfere with your ignorance in affairs which
it belongs to me to decide on?"

The words were hard; but this was not the first time that Lydgate had
been frustrated by her.  She did not look at him, and made no reply.

"I had nearly resolved on going to Quallingham.  It would have cost me
pain enough to do it, yet it might have been of some use.  But it has
been of no use for me to think of anything.  You have always been
counteracting me secretly.  You delude me with a false assent, and then
I am at the mercy of your devices.  If you mean to resist every wish I
express, say so and defy me.  I shall at least know what I am doing
then."

It is a terrible moment in young lives when the closeness of love's
bond has turned to this power of galling.  In spite of Rosamond's
self-control a tear fell silently and rolled over her lips.  She still
said nothing; but under that quietude was hidden an intense effect: she
was in such entire disgust with her husband that she wished she had
never seen him.  Sir Godwin's rudeness towards her and utter want of
feeling ranged him with Dover and all other creditors--disagreeable
people who only thought of themselves, and did not mind how annoying
they were to her.  Even her father was unkind, and might have done more
for them.  In fact there was but one person in Rosamond's world whom
she did not regard as blameworthy, and that was the graceful creature
with blond plaits and with little hands crossed before her, who had
never expressed herself unbecomingly, and had always acted for the
best--the best naturally being what she best liked.

Lydgate pausing and looking at her began to feel that half-maddening
sense of helplessness which comes over passionate people when their
passion is met by an innocent-looking silence whose meek victimized air
seems to put them in the wrong, and at last infects even the justest
indignation with a doubt of its justice.  He needed to recover the full
sense that he was in the right by moderating his words.

"Can you not see, Rosamond," he began again, trying to be simply grave
and not bitter, "that nothing can be so fatal as a want of openness and
confidence between us?  It has happened again and again that I have
expressed a decided wish, and you have seemed to assent, yet after that
you have secretly disobeyed my wish.  In that way I can never know what
I have to trust to.  There would be some hope for us if you would admit
this.  Am I such an unreasonable, furious brute?  Why should you not be
open with me?"  Still silence.

"Will you only say that you have been mistaken, and that I may depend
on your not acting secretly in future?" said Lydgate, urgently, but
with something of request in his tone which Rosamond was quick to
perceive.  She spoke with coolness.

"I cannot possibly make admissions or promises in answer to such words
as you have used towards me.  I have not been accustomed to language of
that kind.  You have spoken of my 'secret meddling,' and my
'interfering ignorance,' and my 'false assent.'  I have never expressed
myself in that way to you, and I think that you ought to apologize.
You spoke of its being impossible to live with me.  Certainly you have
not made my life pleasant to me of late.  I think it was to be expected
that I should try to avert some of the hardships which our marriage has
brought on me."  Another tear fell as Rosamond ceased speaking, and she
pressed it away as quietly as the first.

Lydgate flung himself into a chair, feeling checkmated.  What place was
there in her mind for a remonstrance to lodge in?  He laid down his
hat, flung an arm over the back of his chair, and looked down for some
moments without speaking.  Rosamond had the double purchase over him of
insensibility to the point of justice in his reproach, and of
sensibility to the undeniable hardships now present in her married
life.  Although her duplicity in the affair of the house had exceeded
what he knew, and had really hindered the Plymdales from knowing of it,
she had no consciousness that her action could rightly be called false.
We are not obliged to identify our own acts according to a strict
classification, any more than the materials of our grocery and clothes.
Rosamond felt that she was aggrieved, and that this was what Lydgate
had to recognize.

As for him, the need of accommodating himself to her nature, which was
inflexible in proportion to its negations, held him as with pincers.
He had begun to have an alarmed foresight of her irrevocable loss of
love for him, and the consequent dreariness of their life.  The ready
fulness of his emotions made this dread alternate quickly with the
first violent movements of his anger.  It would assuredly have been a
vain boast in him to say that he was her master.

"You have not made my life pleasant to me of late"--"the hardships
which our marriage has brought on me"--these words were stinging his
imagination as a pain makes an exaggerated dream.  If he were not only
to sink from his highest resolve, but to sink into the hideous
fettering of domestic hate?

"Rosamond," he said, turning his eyes on her with a melancholy look,
"you should allow for a man's words when he is disappointed and
provoked.  You and I cannot have opposite interests.  I cannot part my
happiness from yours.  If I am angry with you, it is that you seem not
to see how any concealment divides us.  How could I wish to make
anything hard to you either by my words or conduct?  When I hurt you, I
hurt part of my own life.  I should never be angry with you if you
would be quite open with me."

"I have only wished to prevent you from hurrying us into wretchedness
without any necessity," said Rosamond, the tears coming again from a
softened feeling now that her husband had softened.  "It is so very
hard to be disgraced here among all the people we know, and to live in
such a miserable way.  I wish I had died with the baby."

She spoke and wept with that gentleness which makes such words and
tears omnipotent over a loving-hearted man.  Lydgate drew his chair
near to hers and pressed her delicate head against his cheek with his
powerful tender hand.  He only caressed her; he did not say anything;
for what was there to say?  He could not promise to shield her from the
dreaded wretchedness, for he could see no sure means of doing so.  When
he left her to go out again, he told himself that it was ten times
harder for her than for him: he had a life away from home, and constant
appeals to his activity on behalf of others.  He wished to excuse
everything in her if he could--but it was inevitable that in that
excusing mood he should think of her as if she were an animal of
another and feebler species.  Nevertheless she had mastered him.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Lydgate has decided to go to his uncle in person to ask for assistance, and is about to tell Rosamond when a letter arrives for him from his uncle. He doesn't realize that Rosamond has already written to him, of course. Sir Godwin's letter tells Lydgate that he shouldn't ask his wife to write for him on business matters, because it looks like wheedling. He also says that he can't afford to help them out financially. Lydgate is furious that Rosamond wrote to his uncle without telling him, and points out to her that she did more harm than good. Rosamond just sits there and takes it passively and politely, but secretly thinks that the whole world is "disagreeable" and that she is the only person in it who has acted blamelessly. Finally her tears and gentle accusations win him over and make him blame himself entirely.


prompt:
Chapter: "'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
      Another thing to fall."
                          --Measure for Measure.

Lydgate certainly had good reason to reflect on the service his
practice did him in counteracting his personal cares.  He had no longer
free energy enough for spontaneous research and speculative thinking,
but by the bedside of patients, the direct external calls on his
judgment and sympathies brought the added impulse needed to draw him
out of himself.  It was not simply that beneficent harness of routine
which enables silly men to live respectably and unhappy men to live
calmly--it was a perpetual claim on the immediate fresh application of
thought, and on the consideration of another's need and trial.  Many of
us looking back through life would say that the kindest man we have
ever known has been a medical man, or perhaps that surgeon whose fine
tact, directed by deeply informed perception, has come to us in our
need with a more sublime beneficence than that of miracle-workers. Some
of that twice-blessed mercy was always with Lydgate in his work at the
Hospital or in private houses, serving better than any opiate to quiet
and sustain him under his anxieties and his sense of mental degeneracy.

Mr. Farebrother's suspicion as to the opiate was true, however.  Under
the first galling pressure of foreseen difficulties, and the first
perception that his marriage, if it were not to be a yoked loneliness,
must be a state of effort to go on loving without too much care about
being loved, he had once or twice tried a dose of opium.  But he had no
hereditary constitutional craving after such transient escapes from the
hauntings of misery.  He was strong, could drink a great deal of wine,
but did not care about it; and when the men round him were drinking
spirits, he took sugar and water, having a contemptuous pity even for
the earliest stages of excitement from drink.  It was the same with
gambling.  He had looked on at a great deal of gambling in Paris,
watching it as if it had been a disease.  He was no more tempted by
such winning than he was by drink.  He had said to himself that the
only winning he cared for must be attained by a conscious process of
high, difficult combination tending towards a beneficent result.  The
power he longed for could not be represented by agitated fingers
clutching a heap of coin, or by the half-barbarous, half-idiotic
triumph in the eyes of a man who sweeps within his arms the ventures of
twenty chapfallen companions.

But just as he had tried opium, so his thought now began to turn upon
gambling--not with appetite for its excitement, but with a sort of
wistful inward gaze after that easy way of getting money, which implied
no asking and brought no responsibility.  If he had been in London or
Paris at that time, it is probable that such thoughts, seconded by
opportunity, would have taken him into a gambling-house, no longer to
watch the gamblers, but to watch with them in kindred eagerness.
Repugnance would have been surmounted by the immense need to win, if
chance would be kind enough to let him.  An incident which happened not
very long after that airy notion of getting aid from his uncle had been
excluded, was a strong sign of the effect that might have followed any
extant opportunity of gambling.

The billiard-room at the Green Dragon was the constant resort of a
certain set, most of whom, like our acquaintance Mr. Bambridge, were
regarded as men of pleasure.  It was here that poor Fred Vincy had made
part of his memorable debt, having lost money in betting, and been
obliged to borrow of that gay companion.  It was generally known in
Middlemarch that a good deal of money was lost and won in this way; and
the consequent repute of the Green Dragon as a place of dissipation
naturally heightened in some quarters the temptation to go there.
Probably its regular visitants, like the initiates of freemasonry,
wished that there were something a little more tremendous to keep to
themselves concerning it; but they were not a closed community, and
many decent seniors as well as juniors occasionally turned into the
billiard-room to see what was going on.  Lydgate, who had the muscular
aptitude for billiards, and was fond of the game, had once or twice in
the early days after his arrival in Middlemarch taken his turn with the
cue at the Green Dragon; but afterwards he had no leisure for the game,
and no inclination for the socialities there.  One evening, however, he
had occasion to seek Mr. Bambridge at that resort.  The horsedealer had
engaged to get him a customer for his remaining good horse, for which
Lydgate had determined to substitute a cheap hack, hoping by this
reduction of style to get perhaps twenty pounds; and he cared now for
every small sum, as a help towards feeding the patience of his
tradesmen.  To run up to the billiard-room, as he was passing, would
save time.

Mr. Bambridge was not yet come, but would be sure to arrive by-and-by,
said his friend Mr. Horrock; and Lydgate stayed, playing a game for the
sake of passing the time.  That evening he had the peculiar light in
the eyes and the unusual vivacity which had been once noticed in him by
Mr. Farebrother.  The exceptional fact of his presence was much noticed
in the room, where there was a good deal of Middlemarch company; and
several lookers-on, as well as some of the players, were betting with
animation.  Lydgate was playing well, and felt confident; the bets were
dropping round him, and with a swift glancing thought of the probable
gain which might double the sum he was saving from his horse, he began
to bet on his own play, and won again and again.  Mr. Bambridge had
come in, but Lydgate did not notice him.  He was not only excited with
his play, but visions were gleaming on him of going the next day to
Brassing, where there was gambling on a grander scale to be had, and
where, by one powerful snatch at the devil's bait, he might carry it
off without the hook, and buy his rescue from his daily solicitings.

He was still winning when two new visitors entered.  One of them was a
young Hawley, just come from his law studies in town, and the other was
Fred Vincy, who had spent several evenings of late at this old haunt of
his.  Young Hawley, an accomplished billiard-player, brought a cool
fresh hand to the cue.  But Fred Vincy, startled at seeing Lydgate, and
astonished to see him betting with an excited air, stood aside, and
kept out of the circle round the table.

Fred had been rewarding resolution by a little laxity of late.  He had
been working heartily for six months at all outdoor occupations under
Mr. Garth, and by dint of severe practice had nearly mastered the
defects of his handwriting, this practice being, perhaps, a little the
less severe that it was often carried on in the evening at Mr. Garth's
under the eyes of Mary.  But the last fortnight Mary had been staying
at Lowick Parsonage with the ladies there, during Mr. Farebrother's
residence in Middlemarch, where he was carrying out some parochial
plans; and Fred, not seeing anything more agreeable to do, had turned
into the Green Dragon, partly to play at billiards, partly to taste the
old flavor of discourse about horses, sport, and things in general,
considered from a point of view which was not strenuously correct.  He
had not been out hunting once this season, had had no horse of his own
to ride, and had gone from place to place chiefly with Mr. Garth in his
gig, or on the sober cob which Mr. Garth could lend him.  It was a
little too bad, Fred began to think, that he should be kept in the
traces with more severity than if he had been a clergyman.  "I will
tell you what, Mistress Mary--it will be rather harder work to learn
surveying and drawing plans than it would have been to write sermons,"
he had said, wishing her to appreciate what he went through for her
sake; "and as to Hercules and Theseus, they were nothing to me.  They
had sport, and never learned to write a bookkeeping hand." And now,
Mary being out of the way for a little while, Fred, like any other
strong dog who cannot slip his collar, had pulled up the staple of his
chain and made a small escape, not of course meaning to go fast or far.
There could be no reason why he should not play at billiards, but he
was determined not to bet.  As to money just now, Fred had in his mind
the heroic project of saving almost all of the eighty pounds that Mr.
Garth offered him, and returning it, which he could easily do by giving
up all futile money-spending, since he had a superfluous stock of
clothes, and no expense in his board.  In that way he could, in one
year, go a good way towards repaying the ninety pounds of which he had
deprived Mrs. Garth, unhappily at a time when she needed that sum more
than she did now.  Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that on this
evening, which was the fifth of his recent visits to the billiard-room,
Fred had, not in his pocket, but in his mind, the ten pounds which he
meant to reserve for himself from his half-year's salary (having before
him the pleasure of carrying thirty to Mrs. Garth when Mary was likely
to be come home again)--he had those ten pounds in his mind as a fund
from which he might risk something, if there were a chance of a good
bet.  Why?  Well, when sovereigns were flying about, why shouldn't he
catch a few?  He would never go far along that road again; but a man
likes to assure himself, and men of pleasure generally, what he could
do in the way of mischief if he chose, and that if he abstains from
making himself ill, or beggaring himself, or talking with the utmost
looseness which the narrow limits of human capacity will allow, it is
not because he is a spooney.  Fred did not enter into formal reasons,
which are a very artificial, inexact way of representing the tingling
returns of old habit, and the caprices of young blood: but there was
lurking in him a prophetic sense that evening, that when he began to
play he should also begin to bet--that he should enjoy some
punch-drinking, and in general prepare himself for feeling "rather
seedy" in the morning.  It is in such indefinable movements that action
often begins.

But the last thing likely to have entered Fred's expectation was that
he should see his brother-in-law Lydgate--of whom he had never quite
dropped the old opinion that he was a prig, and tremendously conscious
of his superiority--looking excited and betting, just as he himself
might have done.  Fred felt a shock greater than he could quite account
for by the vague knowledge that Lydgate was in debt, and that his
father had refused to help him; and his own inclination to enter into
the play was suddenly checked.  It was a strange reversal of attitudes:
Fred's blond face and blue eyes, usually bright and careless, ready to
give attention to anything that held out a promise of amusement,
looking involuntarily grave and almost embarrassed as if by the sight
of something unfitting; while Lydgate, who had habitually an air of
self-possessed strength, and a certain meditativeness that seemed to
lie behind his most observant attention, was acting, watching, speaking
with that excited narrow consciousness which reminds one of an animal
with fierce eyes and retractile claws.

Lydgate, by betting on his own strokes, had won sixteen pounds; but
young Hawley's arrival had changed the poise of things.  He made
first-rate strokes himself, and began to bet against Lydgate's strokes,
the strain of whose nerves was thus changed from simple confidence in
his own movements to defying another person's doubt in them.  The
defiance was more exciting than the confidence, but it was less sure.
He continued to bet on his own play, but began often to fail.  Still he
went on, for his mind was as utterly narrowed into that precipitous
crevice of play as if he had been the most ignorant lounger there.
Fred observed that Lydgate was losing fast, and found himself in the
new situation of puzzling his brains to think of some device by which,
without being offensive, he could withdraw Lydgate's attention, and
perhaps suggest to him a reason for quitting the room.  He saw that
others were observing Lydgate's strange unlikeness to himself, and it
occurred to him that merely to touch his elbow and call him aside for a
moment might rouse him from his absorption.  He could think of nothing
cleverer than the daring improbability of saying that he wanted to see
Rosy, and wished to know if she were at home this evening; and he was
going desperately to carry out this weak device, when a waiter came up
to him with a message, saying that Mr. Farebrother was below, and
begged to speak with him.

Fred was surprised, not quite comfortably, but sending word that he
would be down immediately, he went with a new impulse up to Lydgate,
said, "Can I speak to you a moment?" and drew him aside.

"Farebrother has just sent up a message to say that he wants to speak
to me.  He is below.  I thought you might like to know he was there, if
you had anything to say to him."

Fred had simply snatched up this pretext for speaking, because he could
not say, "You are losing confoundedly, and are making everybody stare
at you; you had better come away."  But inspiration could hardly have
served him better.  Lydgate had not before seen that Fred was present,
and his sudden appearance with an announcement of Mr. Farebrother had
the effect of a sharp concussion.

"No, no," said Lydgate; "I have nothing particular to say to him.
But--the game is up--I must be going--I came in just to see Bambridge."

"Bambridge is over there, but he is making a row--I don't think he's
ready for business.  Come down with me to Farebrother.  I expect he is
going to blow me up, and you will shield me," said Fred, with some
adroitness.

Lydgate felt shame, but could not bear to act as if he felt it, by
refusing to see Mr. Farebrother; and he went down.  They merely shook
hands, however, and spoke of the frost; and when all three had turned
into the street, the Vicar seemed quite willing to say good-by to
Lydgate.  His present purpose was clearly to talk with Fred alone, and
he said, kindly, "I disturbed you, young gentleman, because I have some
pressing business with you.  Walk with me to St. Botolph's, will you?"

It was a fine night, the sky thick with stars, and Mr. Farebrother
proposed that they should make a circuit to the old church by the
London road.  The next thing he said was--

"I thought Lydgate never went to the Green Dragon?"

"So did I," said Fred.  "But he said that he went to see Bambridge."

"He was not playing, then?"

Fred had not meant to tell this, but he was obliged now to say, "Yes,
he was.  But I suppose it was an accidental thing.  I have never seen
him there before."

"You have been going often yourself, then, lately?"

"Oh, about five or six times."

"I think you had some good reason for giving up the habit of going
there?"

"Yes.  You know all about it," said Fred, not liking to be catechised
in this way.  "I made a clean breast to you."

"I suppose that gives me a warrant to speak about the matter now.  It
is understood between us, is it not?--that we are on a footing of open
friendship: I have listened to you, and you will be willing to listen
to me.  I may take my turn in talking a little about myself?"

"I am under the deepest obligation to you, Mr. Farebrother," said Fred,
in a state of uncomfortable surmise.

"I will not affect to deny that you are under some obligation to me.
But I am going to confess to you, Fred, that I have been tempted to
reverse all that by keeping silence with you just now.  When somebody
said to me, 'Young Vincy has taken to being at the billiard-table every
night again--he won't bear the curb long;' I was tempted to do the
opposite of what I am doing--to hold my tongue and wait while you went
down the ladder again, betting first and then--"

"I have not made any bets," said Fred, hastily.

"Glad to hear it.  But I say, my prompting was to look on and see you
take the wrong turning, wear out Garth's patience, and lose the best
opportunity of your life--the opportunity which you made some rather
difficult effort to secure.  You can guess the feeling which raised
that temptation in me--I am sure you know it.  I am sure you know that
the satisfaction of your affections stands in the way of mine."

There was a pause.  Mr. Farebrother seemed to wait for a recognition of
the fact; and the emotion perceptible in the tones of his fine voice
gave solemnity to his words.  But no feeling could quell Fred's alarm.

"I could not be expected to give her up," he said, after a moment's
hesitation: it was not a case for any pretence of generosity.

"Clearly not, when her affection met yours.  But relations of this
sort, even when they are of long standing, are always liable to change.
I can easily conceive that you might act in a way to loosen the tie she
feels towards you--it must be remembered that she is only conditionally
bound to you--and that in that case, another man, who may flatter
himself that he has a hold on her regard, might succeed in winning that
firm place in her love as well as respect which you had let slip.  I
can easily conceive such a result," repeated Mr. Farebrother,
emphatically.  "There is a companionship of ready sympathy, which might
get the advantage even over the longest associations."  It seemed to
Fred that if Mr. Farebrother had had a beak and talons instead of his
very capable tongue, his mode of attack could hardly be more cruel.  He
had a horrible conviction that behind all this hypothetic statement
there was a knowledge of some actual change in Mary's feeling.

"Of course I know it might easily be all up with me," he said, in a
troubled voice.  "If she is beginning to compare--"  He broke off, not
liking to betray all he felt, and then said, by the help of a little
bitterness, "But I thought you were friendly to me."

"So I am; that is why we are here.  But I have had a strong disposition
to be otherwise.  I have said to myself, 'If there is a likelihood of
that youngster doing himself harm, why should you interfere?  Aren't
you worth as much as he is, and don't your sixteen years over and above
his, in which you have gone rather hungry, give you more right to
satisfaction than he has?  If there's a chance of his going to the
dogs, let him--perhaps you could nohow hinder it--and do you take the
benefit.'"

There was a pause, in which Fred was seized by a most uncomfortable
chill.  What was coming next?  He dreaded to hear that something had
been said to Mary--he felt as if he were listening to a threat rather
than a warning.  When the Vicar began again there was a change in his
tone like the encouraging transition to a major key.

"But I had once meant better than that, and I am come back to my old
intention.  I thought that I could hardly _secure myself_ in it better,
Fred, than by telling you just what had gone on in me.  And now, do you
understand me?  I want you to make the happiness of her life and your
own, and if there is any chance that a word of warning from me may turn
aside any risk to the contrary--well, I have uttered it."

There was a drop in the Vicar's voice when he spoke the last words. He
paused--they were standing on a patch of green where the road diverged
towards St. Botolph's, and he put out his hand, as if to imply that the
conversation was closed.  Fred was moved quite newly.  Some one highly
susceptible to the contemplation of a fine act has said, that it
produces a sort of regenerating shudder through the frame, and makes
one feel ready to begin a new life.  A good degree of that effect was
just then present in Fred Vincy.

"I will try to be worthy," he said, breaking off before he could say
"of you as well as of her."  And meanwhile Mr. Farebrother had gathered
the impulse to say something more.

"You must not imagine that I believe there is at present any decline in
her preference of you, Fred.  Set your heart at rest, that if you keep
right, other things will keep right."

"I shall never forget what you have done," Fred answered.  "I can't say
anything that seems worth saying--only I will try that your goodness
shall not be thrown away."

"That's enough.  Good-by, and God bless you."

In that way they parted.  But both of them walked about a long while
before they went out of the starlight.  Much of Fred's rumination might
be summed up in the words, "It certainly would have been a fine thing
for her to marry Farebrother--but if she loves me best and I am a good
husband?"

Perhaps Mr. Farebrother's might be concentrated into a single shrug and
one little speech.  "To think of the part one little woman can play in
the life of a man, so that to renounce her may be a very good imitation
of heroism, and to win her may be a discipline!"

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Lydgate is stressed enough that he's started taking opium to chill out. He gets drawn into playing billiards for money, too, at the Green Dragon . Fred occasionally drops in at the Green Dragon for a quick game, but he doesn't play for money since he's trying to save up his salary to pay the Garths what he owes them. He has started to go more frequently than he used to, though, and Mr. Farebrother hears about it. Fred is shocked one day to find his brother-in-law, Lydgate, playing for money in the upper poolroom and looking a little too excited about it. Farebrother is downstairs, waiting to meet with Fred, and Fred manages to steer Lydgate out of the pool hall with him. Farebrother doesn't say anything to Lydgate about finding him gambling - his business is with Fred. He tells Fred that he had heard through the grapevine that Fred's been at the Green Dragon a lot more lately. He knows Fred hasn't been betting money, but still, it's a scummy place. He tells Fred that he's warning him to stay away from the Green Dragon, as a friend, because he knows Mary Garth wouldn't like it. He also adds that Fred's affection for Mary is standing in the way of his own, so it would have been easier for him to say nothing, watch Fred get dumped by Mary, and then move in himself. But he reassures Fred that Mary still cares for him, but he'd better take care not to get into bad habits again.


prompt:
Chapter: Now is there civil war within the soul:
    Resolve is thrust from off the sacred throne
    By clamorous Needs, and Pride the grand-vizier
    Makes humble compact, plays the supple part
    Of envoy and deft-tongued apologist
    For hungry rebels.

Happily Lydgate had ended by losing in the billiard-room, and brought
away no encouragement to make a raid on luck.  On the contrary, he felt
unmixed disgust with himself the next day when he had to pay four or
five pounds over and above his gains, and he carried about with him a
most unpleasant vision of the figure he had made, not only rubbing
elbows with the men at the Green Dragon but behaving just as they did.
A philosopher fallen to betting is hardly distinguishable from a
Philistine under the same circumstances: the difference will chiefly be
found in his subsequent reflections, and Lydgate chewed a very
disagreeable cud in that way.  His reason told him how the affair might
have been magnified into ruin by a slight change of scenery--if it had
been a gambling-house that he had turned into, where chance could be
clutched with both hands instead of being picked up with thumb and
fore-finger. Nevertheless, though reason strangled the desire to
gamble, there remained the feeling that, with an assurance of luck to
the needful amount, he would have liked to gamble, rather than take the
alternative which was beginning to urge itself as inevitable.

That alternative was to apply to Mr. Bulstrode.  Lydgate had so many
times boasted both to himself and others that he was totally
independent of Bulstrode, to whose plans he had lent himself solely
because they enabled him to carry out his own ideas of professional
work and public benefit--he had so constantly in their personal
intercourse had his pride sustained by the sense that he was making a
good social use of this predominating banker, whose opinions he thought
contemptible and whose motives often seemed to him an absurd mixture of
contradictory impressions--that he had been creating for himself
strong ideal obstacles to the proffering of any considerable request to
him on his own account.

Still, early in March his affairs were at that pass in which men begin
to say that their oaths were delivered in ignorance, and to perceive
that the act which they had called impossible to them is becoming
manifestly possible.  With Dover's ugly security soon to be put in
force, with the proceeds of his practice immediately absorbed in paying
back debts, and with the chance, if the worst were known, of daily
supplies being refused on credit, above all with the vision of
Rosamond's hopeless discontent continually haunting him, Lydgate had
begun to see that he should inevitably bend himself to ask help from
somebody or other.  At first he had considered whether he should write
to Mr. Vincy; but on questioning Rosamond he found that, as he had
suspected, she had already applied twice to her father, the last time
being since the disappointment from Sir Godwin; and papa had said that
Lydgate must look out for himself.  "Papa said he had come, with one
bad year after another, to trade more and more on borrowed capital, and
had had to give up many indulgences; he could not spare a single
hundred from the charges of his family.  He said, let Lydgate ask
Bulstrode: they have always been hand and glove."

Indeed, Lydgate himself had come to the conclusion that if he must end
by asking for a free loan, his relations with Bulstrode, more at least
than with any other man, might take the shape of a claim which was not
purely personal.  Bulstrode had indirectly helped to cause the failure
of his practice, and had also been highly gratified by getting a
medical partner in his plans:--but who among us ever reduced himself
to the sort of dependence in which Lydgate now stood, without trying to
believe that he had claims which diminished the humiliation of asking?
It was true that of late there had seemed to be a new languor of
interest in Bulstrode about the Hospital; but his health had got worse,
and showed signs of a deep-seated nervous affection.  In other respects
he did not appear to be changed: he had always been highly polite, but
Lydgate had observed in him from the first a marked coldness about his
marriage and other private circumstances, a coldness which he had
hitherto preferred to any warmth of familiarity between them.  He
deferred the intention from day to day, his habit of acting on his
conclusions being made infirm by his repugnance to every possible
conclusion and its consequent act.  He saw Mr. Bulstrode often, but he
did not try to use any occasion for his private purpose.  At one moment
he thought, "I will write a letter: I prefer that to any circuitous
talk;" at another he thought, "No; if I were talking to him, I could
make a retreat before any signs of disinclination."

Still the days passed and no letter was written, no special interview
sought.  In his shrinking from the humiliation of a dependent attitude
towards Bulstrode, he began to familiarize his imagination with another
step even more unlike his remembered self.  He began spontaneously to
consider whether it would be possible to carry out that puerile notion
of Rosamond's which had often made him angry, namely, that they should
quit Middlemarch without seeing anything beyond that preface.  The
question came--"Would any man buy the practice of me even now, for as
little as it is worth?  Then the sale might happen as a necessary
preparation for going away."

But against his taking this step, which he still felt to be a
contemptible relinquishment of present work, a guilty turning aside
from what was a real and might be a widening channel for worthy
activity, to start again without any justified destination, there was
this obstacle, that the purchaser, if procurable at all, might not be
quickly forthcoming.  And afterwards?  Rosamond in a poor lodging,
though in the largest city or most distant town, would not find the
life that could save her from gloom, and save him from the reproach of
having plunged her into it.  For when a man is at the foot of the hill
in his fortunes, he may stay a long while there in spite of
professional accomplishment.  In the British climate there is no
incompatibility between scientific insight and furnished lodgings: the
incompatibility is chiefly between scientific ambition and a wife who
objects to that kind of residence.

But in the midst of his hesitation, opportunity came to decide him.  A
note from Mr. Bulstrode requested Lydgate to call on him at the Bank.
A hypochondriacal tendency had shown itself in the banker's
constitution of late; and a lack of sleep, which was really only a
slight exaggeration of an habitual dyspeptic symptom, had been dwelt on
by him as a sign of threatening insanity.  He wanted to consult Lydgate
without delay on that particular morning, although he had nothing to
tell beyond what he had told before.  He listened eagerly to what
Lydgate had to say in dissipation of his fears, though this too was
only repetition; and this moment in which Bulstrode was receiving a
medical opinion with a sense of comfort, seemed to make the
communication of a personal need to him easier than it had been in
Lydgate's contemplation beforehand.  He had been insisting that it
would be well for Mr. Bulstrode to relax his attention to business.

"One sees how any mental strain, however slight, may affect a delicate
frame," said Lydgate at that stage of the consultation when the remarks
tend to pass from the personal to the general, "by the deep stamp which
anxiety will make for a time even on the young and vigorous.  I am
naturally very strong; yet I have been thoroughly shaken lately by an
accumulation of trouble."

"I presume that a constitution in the susceptible state in which mine
at present is, would be especially liable to fall a victim to cholera,
if it visited our district.  And since its appearance near London, we
may well besiege the Mercy-seat for our protection," said Mr.
Bulstrode, not intending to evade Lydgate's allusion, but really
preoccupied with alarms about himself.

"You have at all events taken your share in using good practical
precautions for the town, and that is the best mode of asking for
protection," said Lydgate, with a strong distaste for the broken
metaphor and bad logic of the banker's religion, somewhat increased by
the apparent deafness of his sympathy.  But his mind had taken up its
long-prepared movement towards getting help, and was not yet arrested.
He added, "The town has done well in the way of cleansing, and finding
appliances; and I think that if the cholera should come, even our
enemies will admit that the arrangements in the Hospital are a public
good."

"Truly," said Mr. Bulstrode, with some coldness.  "With regard to what
you say, Mr. Lydgate, about the relaxation of my mental labor, I have
for some time been entertaining a purpose to that effect--a purpose of
a very decided character.  I contemplate at least a temporary
withdrawal from the management of much business, whether benevolent or
commercial.  Also I think of changing my residence for a time: probably
I shall close or let 'The Shrubs,' and take some place near the
coast--under advice of course as to salubrity.  That would be a measure
which you would recommend?"

"Oh yes," said Lydgate, falling backward in his chair, with
ill-repressed impatience under the banker's pale earnest eyes and
intense preoccupation with himself.

"I have for some time felt that I should open this subject with you in
relation to our Hospital," continued Bulstrode.  "Under the
circumstances I have indicated, of course I must cease to have any
personal share in the management, and it is contrary to my views of
responsibility to continue a large application of means to an
institution which I cannot watch over and to some extent regulate.  I
shall therefore, in case of my ultimate decision to leave Middlemarch,
consider that I withdraw other support to the New Hospital than that
which will subsist in the fact that I chiefly supplied the expenses of
building it, and have contributed further large sums to its successful
working."

Lydgate's thought, when Bulstrode paused according to his wont, was,
"He has perhaps been losing a good deal of money." This was the most
plausible explanation of a speech which had caused rather a startling
change in his expectations.  He said in reply--

"The loss to the Hospital can hardly be made up, I fear."

"Hardly," returned Bulstrode, in the same deliberate, silvery tone;
"except by some changes of plan.  The only person who may be certainly
counted on as willing to increase her contributions is Mrs. Casaubon.
I have had an interview with her on the subject, and I have pointed out
to her, as I am about to do to you, that it will be desirable to win a
more general support to the New Hospital by a change of system."
Another pause, but Lydgate did not speak.

"The change I mean is an amalgamation with the Infirmary, so that the
New Hospital shall be regarded as a special addition to the elder
institution, having the same directing board.  It will be necessary,
also, that the medical management of the two shall be combined.  In
this way any difficulty as to the adequate maintenance of our new
establishment will be removed; the benevolent interests of the town
will cease to be divided."

Mr. Bulstrode had lowered his eyes from Lydgate's face to the buttons
of his coat as he again paused.

"No doubt that is a good device as to ways and means," said Lydgate,
with an edge of irony in his tone.  "But I can't be expected to rejoice
in it at once, since one of the first results will be that the other
medical men will upset or interrupt my methods, if it were only because
they are mine."

"I myself, as you know, Mr. Lydgate, highly valued the opportunity of
new and independent procedure which you have diligently employed: the
original plan, I confess, was one which I had much at heart, under
submission to the Divine Will.  But since providential indications
demand a renunciation from me, I renounce."

Bulstrode showed a rather exasperating ability in this conversation.
The broken metaphor and bad logic of motive which had stirred his
hearer's contempt were quite consistent with a mode of putting the
facts which made it difficult for Lydgate to vent his own indignation
and disappointment.  After some rapid reflection, he only asked--

"What did Mrs. Casaubon say?"

"That was the further statement which I wished to make to you," said
Bulstrode, who had thoroughly prepared his ministerial explanation.
"She is, you are aware, a woman of most munificent disposition, and
happily in possession--not I presume of great wealth, but of funds
which she can well spare.  She has informed me that though she has
destined the chief part of those funds to another purpose, she is
willing to consider whether she cannot fully take my place in relation
to the Hospital.  But she wishes for ample time to mature her thoughts
on the subject, and I have told her that there is no need for
haste--that, in fact, my own plans are not yet absolute."

Lydgate was ready to say, "If Mrs. Casaubon would take your place,
there would be gain, instead of loss."  But there was still a weight on
his mind which arrested this cheerful candor.  He replied, "I suppose,
then, that I may enter into the subject with Mrs. Casaubon."

"Precisely; that is what she expressly desires.  Her decision, she
says, will much depend on what you can tell her.  But not at present:
she is, I believe, just setting out on a journey.  I have her letter
here," said Mr. Bulstrode, drawing it out, and reading from it.  "'I am
immediately otherwise engaged,' she says.  'I am going into Yorkshire
with Sir James and Lady Chettam; and the conclusions I come to about
some land which I am to see there may affect my power of contributing
to the Hospital.'  Thus, Mr. Lydgate, there is no haste necessary in
this matter; but I wished to apprise you beforehand of what may
possibly occur."

Mr. Bulstrode returned the letter to his side-pocket, and changed his
attitude as if his business were closed.  Lydgate, whose renewed hope
about the Hospital only made him more conscious of the facts which
poisoned his hope, felt that his effort after help, if made at all,
must be made now and vigorously.

"I am much obliged to you for giving me full notice," he said, with a
firm intention in his tone, yet with an interruptedness in his delivery
which showed that he spoke unwillingly.  "The highest object to me is
my profession, and I had identified the Hospital with the best use I
can at present make of my profession.  But the best use is not always
the same with monetary success.  Everything which has made the Hospital
unpopular has helped with other causes--I think they are all connected
with my professional zeal--to make me unpopular as a practitioner.  I
get chiefly patients who can't pay me.  I should like them best, if I
had nobody to pay on my own side." Lydgate waited a little, but
Bulstrode only bowed, looking at him fixedly, and he went on with the
same interrupted enunciation--as if he were biting an objectional leek.

"I have slipped into money difficulties which I can see no way out of,
unless some one who trusts me and my future will advance me a sum
without other security.  I had very little fortune left when I came
here.  I have no prospects of money from my own family.  My expenses,
in consequence of my marriage, have been very much greater than I had
expected.  The result at this moment is that it would take a thousand
pounds to clear me.  I mean, to free me from the risk of having all my
goods sold in security of my largest debt--as well as to pay my other
debts--and leave anything to keep us a little beforehand with our small
income.  I find that it is out of the question that my wife's father
should make such an advance.  That is why I mention my position to--to
the only other man who may be held to have some personal connection
with my prosperity or ruin."

Lydgate hated to hear himself.  But he had spoken now, and had spoken
with unmistakable directness.  Mr. Bulstrode replied without haste, but
also without hesitation.

"I am grieved, though, I confess, not surprised by this information,
Mr. Lydgate.  For my own part, I regretted your alliance with my
brother-in-law's family, which has always been of prodigal habits, and
which has already been much indebted to me for sustainment in its
present position.  My advice to you, Mr. Lydgate, would be, that
instead of involving yourself in further obligations, and continuing a
doubtful struggle, you should simply become a bankrupt."

"That would not improve my prospect," said Lydgate, rising and speaking
bitterly, "even if it were a more agreeable thing in itself."

"It is always a trial," said Mr. Bulstrode; "but trial, my dear sir, is
our portion here, and is a needed corrective.  I recommend you to weigh
the advice I have given."

"Thank you," said Lydgate, not quite knowing what he said.  "I have
occupied you too long.  Good-day."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Lydgate had actually lost money at the Green Dragon, so he isn't tempted to go back again. He decides to ask for money from Mr. Bulstrode, even though he always had intended to stay financially independent of him. After all, he reasons, he's been working for Bulstrode's new hospital for free, and that's a major time commitment. He's still wavering about whether or not to ask him when Bulstrode calls him to his house - he doesn't feel well, and wants to see a doctor. Lydgate advises that he relax more . The subject turns to the hospital. Lydgate hints that he'd like a salary, instead of working gratis. But Bulstrode puts him off and says that Mrs. Casaubon is planning on taking over as the primary source of funds for the hospital. Lydgate says he'll talk to her, then. Bulstrode encourages that, but adds that Mrs. Casaubon is out of town at the moment. So then Lydgate asks for a straight-up loan from Bulstrode. Bulstrode declines, and suggests that Lydgate declare bankruptcy. Lydgate's not encouraged by this advice, and leaves.