Chapter: "If thou hast heard a word, let it die with thee."
                                       --Ecclesiasticus.


Mr. Bulstrode was still seated in his manager's room at the Bank, about
three o'clock of the same day on which he had received Lydgate there,
when the clerk entered to say that his horse was waiting, and also that
Mr. Garth was outside and begged to speak with him.

"By all means," said Bulstrode; and Caleb entered.  "Pray sit down, Mr.
Garth," continued the banker, in his suavest tone.

"I am glad that you arrived just in time to find me here.  I know you
count your minutes."

"Oh," said Caleb, gently, with a slow swing of his head on one side, as
he seated himself and laid his hat on the floor.

He looked at the ground, leaning forward and letting his long fingers
droop between his legs, while each finger moved in succession, as if it
were sharing some thought which filled his large quiet brow.

Mr. Bulstrode, like every one else who knew Caleb, was used to his
slowness in beginning to speak on any topic which he felt to be
important, and rather expected that he was about to recur to the buying
of some houses in Blindman's Court, for the sake of pulling them down,
as a sacrifice of property which would be well repaid by the influx of
air and light on that spot.  It was by propositions of this kind that
Caleb was sometimes troublesome to his employers; but he had usually
found Bulstrode ready to meet him in projects of improvement, and they
had got on well together.  When he spoke again, however, it was to say,
in rather a subdued voice--

"I have just come away from Stone Court, Mr. Bulstrode."

"You found nothing wrong there, I hope," said the banker; "I was there
myself yesterday.  Abel has done well with the lambs this year."

"Why, yes," said Caleb, looking up gravely, "there is something wrong--a
stranger, who is very ill, I think.  He wants a doctor, and I came to
tell you of that.  His name is Raffles."

He saw the shock of his words passing through Bulstrode's frame.  On
this subject the banker had thought that his fears were too constantly
on the watch to be taken by surprise; but he had been mistaken.

"Poor wretch!" he said in a compassionate tone, though his lips
trembled a little.  "Do you know how he came there?"

"I took him myself," said Caleb, quietly--"took him up in my gig.  He
had got down from the coach, and was walking a little beyond the
turning from the toll-house, and I overtook him.  He remembered seeing
me with you once before, at Stone Court, and he asked me to take him
on.  I saw he was ill: it seemed to me the right thing to do, to carry
him under shelter.  And now I think you should lose no time in getting
advice for him." Caleb took up his hat from the floor as he ended, and
rose slowly from his seat.

"Certainly," said Bulstrode, whose mind was very active at this moment.
"Perhaps you will yourself oblige me, Mr. Garth, by calling at Mr.
Lydgate's as you pass--or stay! he may at this hour probably be at the
Hospital.  I will first send my man on the horse there with a note this
instant, and then I will myself ride to Stone Court."

Bulstrode quickly wrote a note, and went out himself to give the
commission to his man.  When he returned, Caleb was standing as before
with one hand on the back of the chair, holding his hat with the other.
In Bulstrode's mind the dominant thought was, "Perhaps Raffles only
spoke to Garth of his illness.  Garth may wonder, as he must have done
before, at this disreputable fellow's claiming intimacy with me; but he
will know nothing.  And he is friendly to me--I can be of use to him."

He longed for some confirmation of this hopeful conjecture, but to have
asked any question as to what Raffles had said or done would have been
to betray fear.

"I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Garth," he said, in his usual
tone of politeness.  "My servant will be back in a few minutes, and I
shall then go myself to see what can be done for this unfortunate man.
Perhaps you had some other business with me?  If so, pray be seated."

"Thank you," said Caleb, making a slight gesture with his right hand to
waive the invitation.  "I wish to say, Mr. Bulstrode, that I must
request you to put your business into some other hands than mine.  I am
obliged to you for your handsome way of meeting me--about the letting
of Stone Court, and all other business.  But I must give it up."  A
sharp certainty entered like a stab into Bulstrode's soul.

"This is sudden, Mr. Garth," was all he could say at first.

"It is," said Caleb; "but it is quite fixed.  I must give it up."

He spoke with a firmness which was very gentle, and yet he could see
that Bulstrode seemed to cower under that gentleness, his face looking
dried and his eyes swerving away from the glance which rested on him.
Caleb felt a deep pity for him, but he could have used no pretexts to
account for his resolve, even if they would have been of any use.

"You have been led to this, I apprehend, by some slanders concerning me
uttered by that unhappy creature," said Bulstrode, anxious now to know
the utmost.

"That is true.  I can't deny that I act upon what I heard from him."

"You are a conscientious man, Mr. Garth--a man, I trust, who feels
himself accountable to God.  You would not wish to injure me by being
too ready to believe a slander," said Bulstrode, casting about for
pleas that might be adapted to his hearer's mind.  "That is a poor
reason for giving up a connection which I think I may say will be
mutually beneficial."

"I would injure no man if I could help it," said Caleb; "even if I
thought God winked at it.  I hope I should have a feeling for my
fellow-creature. But, sir--I am obliged to believe that this Raffles
has told me the truth.  And I can't be happy in working with you, or
profiting by you.  It hurts my mind.  I must beg you to seek another
agent."

"Very well, Mr. Garth.  But I must at least claim to know the worst
that he has told you.  I must know what is the foul speech that I am
liable to be the victim of," said Bulstrode, a certain amount of anger
beginning to mingle with his humiliation before this quiet man who
renounced his benefits.

"That's needless," said Caleb, waving his hand, bowing his head
slightly, and not swerving from the tone which had in it the merciful
intention to spare this pitiable man.  "What he has said to me will
never pass from my lips, unless something now unknown forces it from
me.  If you led a harmful life for gain, and kept others out of their
rights by deceit, to get the more for yourself, I dare say you
repent--you would like to go back, and can't: that must be a bitter
thing"--Caleb paused a moment and shook his head--"it is not for me to
make your life harder to you."

"But you do--you do make it harder to me," said Bulstrode constrained
into a genuine, pleading cry.  "You make it harder to me by turning
your back on me."

"That I'm forced to do," said Caleb, still more gently, lifting up his
hand.  "I am sorry.  I don't judge you and say, he is wicked, and I am
righteous.  God forbid.  I don't know everything.  A man may do wrong,
and his will may rise clear out of it, though he can't get his life
clear.  That's a bad punishment.  If it is so with you,--well, I'm
very sorry for you.  But I have that feeling inside me, that I can't go
on working with you.  That's all, Mr. Bulstrode.  Everything else is
buried, so far as my will goes.  And I wish you good-day."

"One moment, Mr. Garth!" said Bulstrode, hurriedly.  "I may trust then
to your solemn assurance that you will not repeat either to man or
woman what--even if it have any degree of truth in it--is yet a
malicious representation?"  Caleb's wrath was stirred, and he said,
indignantly--

"Why should I have said it if I didn't mean it?  I am in no fear of
you.  Such tales as that will never tempt my tongue."

"Excuse me--I am agitated--I am the victim of this abandoned man."

"Stop a bit! you have got to consider whether you didn't help to make
him worse, when you profited by his vices."

"You are wronging me by too readily believing him," said Bulstrode,
oppressed, as by a nightmare, with the inability to deny flatly what
Raffles might have said; and yet feeling it an escape that Caleb had
not so stated it to him as to ask for that flat denial.

"No," said Caleb, lifting his hand deprecatingly; "I am ready to
believe better, when better is proved.  I rob you of no good chance.
As to speaking, I hold it a crime to expose a man's sin unless I'm
clear it must be done to save the innocent.  That is my way of
thinking, Mr. Bulstrode, and what I say, I've no need to swear.  I wish
you good-day."

Some hours later, when he was at home, Caleb said to his wife,
incidentally, that he had had some little differences with Bulstrode,
and that in consequence, he had given up all notion of taking Stone
Court, and indeed had resigned doing further business for him.

"He was disposed to interfere too much, was he?" said Mrs. Garth,
imagining that her husband had been touched on his sensitive point, and
not been allowed to do what he thought right as to materials and modes
of work.

"Oh," said Caleb, bowing his head and waving his hand gravely.  And
Mrs. Garth knew that this was a sign of his not intending to speak
further on the subject.

As for Bulstrode, he had almost immediately mounted his horse and set
off for Stone Court, being anxious to arrive there before Lydgate.

His mind was crowded with images and conjectures, which were a language
to his hopes and fears, just as we hear tones from the vibrations which
shake our whole system.  The deep humiliation with which he had winced
under Caleb Garth's knowledge of his past and rejection of his
patronage, alternated with and almost gave way to the sense of safety
in the fact that Garth, and no other, had been the man to whom Raffles
had spoken.  It seemed to him a sort of earnest that Providence
intended his rescue from worse consequences; the way being thus left
open for the hope of secrecy.  That Raffles should be afflicted with
illness, that he should have been led to Stone Court rather than
elsewhere--Bulstrode's heart fluttered at the vision of probabilities
which these events conjured up.  If it should turn out that he was
freed from all danger of disgrace--if he could breathe in perfect
liberty--his life should be more consecrated than it had ever been
before.  He mentally lifted up this vow as if it would urge the result
he longed for--he tried to believe in the potency of that prayerful
resolution--its potency to determine death.  He knew that he ought to
say, "Thy will be done;" and he said it often.  But the intense desire
remained that the will of God might be the death of that hated man.

Yet when he arrived at Stone Court he could not see the change in
Raffles without a shock.  But for his pallor and feebleness, Bulstrode
would have called the change in him entirely mental.  Instead of his
loud tormenting mood, he showed an intense, vague terror, and seemed to
deprecate Bulstrode's anger, because the money was all gone--he had
been robbed--it had half of it been taken from him.  He had only come
here because he was ill and somebody was hunting him--somebody was
after him, he had told nobody anything, he had kept his mouth shut.
Bulstrode, not knowing the significance of these symptoms, interpreted
this new nervous susceptibility into a means of alarming Raffles into
true confessions, and taxed him with falsehood in saying that he had
not told anything, since he had just told the man who took him up in
his gig and brought him to Stone Court.  Raffles denied this with
solemn adjurations; the fact being that the links of consciousness were
interrupted in him, and that his minute terror-stricken narrative to
Caleb Garth had been delivered under a set of visionary impulses which
had dropped back into darkness.

Bulstrode's heart sank again at this sign that he could get no grasp
over the wretched man's mind, and that no word of Raffles could be
trusted as to the fact which he most wanted to know, namely, whether or
not he had really kept silence to every one in the neighborhood except
Caleb Garth.  The housekeeper had told him without the least constraint
of manner that since Mr. Garth left, Raffles had asked her for beer,
and after that had not spoken, seeming very ill.  On that side it might
be concluded that there had been no betrayal.  Mrs. Abel thought, like
the servants at The Shrubs, that the strange man belonged to the
unpleasant "kin" who are among the troubles of the rich; she had at
first referred the kinship to Mr. Rigg, and where there was property
left, the buzzing presence of such large blue-bottles seemed natural
enough.  How he could be "kin" to Bulstrode as well was not so clear,
but Mrs. Abel agreed with her husband that there was "no knowing," a
proposition which had a great deal of mental food for her, so that she
shook her head over it without further speculation.

In less than an hour Lydgate arrived.  Bulstrode met him outside the
wainscoted parlor, where Raffles was, and said--

"I have called you in, Mr. Lydgate, to an unfortunate man who was once
in my employment, many years ago.  Afterwards he went to America, and
returned I fear to an idle dissolute life.  Being destitute, he has a
claim on me.  He was slightly connected with Rigg, the former owner of
this place, and in consequence found his way here.  I believe he is
seriously ill: apparently his mind is affected.  I feel bound to do the
utmost for him."

Lydgate, who had the remembrance of his last conversation with
Bulstrode strongly upon him, was not disposed to say an unnecessary
word to him, and bowed slightly in answer to this account; but just
before entering the room he turned automatically and said, "What is his
name?"--to know names being as much a part of the medical man's
accomplishment as of the practical politician's.

"Raffles, John Raffles," said Bulstrode, who hoped that whatever became
of Raffles, Lydgate would never know any more of him.

When he had thoroughly examined and considered the patient, Lydgate
ordered that he should go to bed, and be kept there in as complete
quiet as possible, and then went with Bulstrode into another room.

"It is a serious case, I apprehend," said the banker, before Lydgate
began to speak.

"No--and yes," said Lydgate, half dubiously.  "It is difficult to
decide as to the possible effect of long-standing complications; but
the man had a robust constitution to begin with.  I should not expect
this attack to be fatal, though of course the system is in a ticklish
state.  He should be well watched and attended to."

"I will remain here myself," said Bulstrode.  "Mrs. Abel and her
husband are inexperienced.  I can easily remain here for the night, if
you will oblige me by taking a note for Mrs. Bulstrode."

"I should think that is hardly necessary," said Lydgate.  "He seems
tame and terrified enough.  He might become more unmanageable.  But
there is a man here--is there not?"

"I have more than once stayed here a few nights for the sake of
seclusion," said Bulstrode, indifferently; "I am quite disposed to do
so now.  Mrs. Abel and her husband can relieve or aid me, if necessary."

"Very well.  Then I need give my directions only to you," said Lydgate,
not feeling surprised at a little peculiarity in Bulstrode.

"You think, then, that the case is hopeful?" said Bulstrode, when
Lydgate had ended giving his orders.

"Unless there turn out to be further complications, such as I have not
at present detected--yes," said Lydgate.  "He may pass on to a worse
stage; but I should not wonder if he got better in a few days, by
adhering to the treatment I have prescribed.  There must be firmness.
Remember, if he calls for liquors of any sort, not to give them to him.
In my opinion, men in his condition are oftener killed by treatment
than by the disease.  Still, new symptoms may arise.  I shall come
again to-morrow morning."

After waiting for the note to be carried to Mrs. Bulstrode, Lydgate
rode away, forming no conjectures, in the first instance, about the
history of Raffles, but rehearsing the whole argument, which had lately
been much stirred by the publication of Dr. Ware's abundant experience
in America, as to the right way of treating cases of alcoholic
poisoning such as this.  Lydgate, when abroad, had already been
interested in this question: he was strongly convinced against the
prevalent practice of allowing alcohol and persistently administering
large doses of opium; and he had repeatedly acted on this conviction
with a favorable result.

"The man is in a diseased state," he thought, "but there's a good deal
of wear in him still.  I suppose he is an object of charity to
Bulstrode.  It is curious what patches of hardness and tenderness lie
side by side in men's dispositions.  Bulstrode seems the most
unsympathetic fellow I ever saw about some people, and yet he has taken
no end of trouble, and spent a great deal of money, on benevolent
objects.  I suppose he has some test by which he finds out whom Heaven
cares for--he has made up his mind that it doesn't care for me."

This streak of bitterness came from a plenteous source, and kept
widening in the current of his thought as he neared Lowick Gate.  He
had not been there since his first interview with Bulstrode in the
morning, having been found at the Hospital by the banker's messenger;
and for the first time he was returning to his home without the vision
of any expedient in the background which left him a hope of raising
money enough to deliver him from the coming destitution of everything
which made his married life tolerable--everything which saved him and
Rosamond from that bare isolation in which they would be forced to
recognize how little of a comfort they could be to each other.  It was
more bearable to do without tenderness for himself than to see that his
own tenderness could make no amends for the lack of other things to
her.  The sufferings of his own pride from humiliations past and to
come were keen enough, yet they were hardly distinguishable to himself
from that more acute pain which dominated them--the pain of foreseeing
that Rosamond would come to regard him chiefly as the cause of
disappointment and unhappiness to her.  He had never liked the
makeshifts of poverty, and they had never before entered into his
prospects for himself; but he was beginning now to imagine how two
creatures who loved each other, and had a stock of thoughts in common,
might laugh over their shabby furniture, and their calculations how far
they could afford butter and eggs.  But the glimpse of that poetry
seemed as far off from him as the carelessness of the golden age; in
poor Rosamond's mind there was not room enough for luxuries to look
small in.  He got down from his horse in a very sad mood, and went into
the house, not expecting to be cheered except by his dinner, and
reflecting that before the evening closed it would be wise to tell
Rosamond of his application to Bulstrode and its failure.  It would be
well not to lose time in preparing her for the worst.

But his dinner waited long for him before he was able to eat it.  For
on entering he found that Dover's agent had already put a man in the
house, and when he asked where Mrs. Lydgate was, he was told that she
was in her bedroom.  He went up and found her stretched on the bed pale
and silent, without an answer even in her face to any word or look of
his.  He sat down by the bed and leaning over her said with almost a
cry of prayer--

"Forgive me for this misery, my poor Rosamond!  Let us only love one
another."

She looked at him silently, still with the blank despair on her face;
but then the tears began to fill her blue eyes, and her lip trembled.
The strong man had had too much to bear that day.  He let his head fall
beside hers and sobbed.

He did not hinder her from going to her father early in the morning--it
seemed now that he ought not to hinder her from doing as she
pleased.  In half an hour she came back, and said that papa and mamma
wished her to go and stay with them while things were in this miserable
state.  Papa said he could do nothing about the debt--if he paid this,
there would be half-a-dozen more.  She had better come back home again
till Lydgate had got a comfortable home for her.  "Do you object,
Tertius?"

"Do as you like," said Lydgate.  "But things are not coming to a crisis
immediately.  There is no hurry."

"I should not go till to-morrow," said Rosamond; "I shall want to pack
my clothes."

"Oh, I would wait a little longer than to-morrow--there is no knowing
what may happen," said Lydgate, with bitter irony.  "I may get my neck
broken, and that may make things easier to you."

It was Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, that his tenderness
towards her, which was both an emotional prompting and a
well-considered resolve, was inevitably interrupted by these outbursts
of indignation either ironical or remonstrant.  She thought them
totally unwarranted, and the repulsion which this exceptional severity
excited in her was in danger of making the more persistent tenderness
unacceptable.

"I see you do not wish me to go," she said, with chill mildness; "why
can you not say so, without that kind of violence?  I shall stay until
you request me to do otherwise."

Lydgate said no more, but went out on his rounds.  He felt bruised and
shattered, and there was a dark line under his eyes which Rosamond had
not seen before.  She could not bear to look at him.  Tertius had a way
of taking things which made them a great deal worse for her.

 A solemn Caleb calls in Bulstrode at he bank. He tells him he has picked up a seriously ill person called Raffles in his gig and left him at Stone Court. He advises Bulstrode to arrange immediate medical care for Raffles. Before leaving, Caleb asks Bulstrode to relieve him if all work related to Stone Court. He is very determined about this. Since Raffles has obviously revealed a lot, Bulstrode attempts to patch up his reputation. Caleb declares firmly that it is not his job to judge any one or to discuss anothers personal affairs. But he insists that he cannot accept profit from any corrupt business or action. Calebs simplicity and lack of smugness impresses and hurts Bulstrode deeply. His insistence on not doing wrong "even if I thought God winked at it" exposes all Bulstrodes sham piety. Bulstrode then goes to Stone Court where he finds Raffles delirious and speechless. He tells Lydgate the man is mentally unstable, a relative of Rigg and slightly connected with himself. He is dismayed on hearing that Lydgate does not think the illness is fatal. Bulstrode undertakes to nurse Raffles with the help of his servants, that night. He is instructed strictly not to give him any alcohol. Lydgate then leaves, pondering over Bulstrodes "kindness" to Raffles and harshness towards himself. He arrives home to find Rosamond prostrate, with his creditors employees in the house. She proposes to go to her parents house for some time. Lydgate responds bitterly. Rosamond coldly offers to stay if it pleases him. They are further alienated from each other.

