rsetshire; and he had often expressed
his sympathy with Dr Fillgrave and his abhorrence of Dr Thorne's
anti-professional practices. But now that he found himself about to
be brought in contact with Dr Thorne, he reflected that the Galen
of Greshamsbury was at any rate equal in reputation to him of
Barchester; that the one was probably on the rise, whereas the other
was already considered by some as rather antiquated; and he therefore
wisely resolved that the present would be an excellent opportunity
for him to make a friend of Dr Thorne.

Poor Lady Scatcherd had an inkling that Dr Fillgrave and Mr Rerechild
were accustomed to row in the same boat, and she was not altogether
free from fear that there might be an outbreak. She therefore took
an opportunity before Dr Thorne's arrival to deprecate any wrathful
tendency.

"Oh, Lady Scatcherd! I have the greatest respect for Dr Thorne,"
said he; "the greatest possible respect; a most skilful
practitioner--something brusque certainly, and perhaps a little
obstinate. But what then? we all have our faults, Lady Scatcherd."

"Oh--yes; we all have, Mr Rerechild; that's certain."

"There's my friend Fillgrave--Lady Scatcherd. He cannot bear anything
of that sort. Now I think he's wrong; and so I tell him." Mr
Rerechild was in error here; for he had never yet ventured to tell Dr
Fillgrave that he was wrong in anything. "We must bear and forbear,
you know. Dr Thorne is an excellent man--in his way very excellent,
Lady Scatcherd."

This little conversation took place after Mr Rerechild's first visit
to his patient: what steps were immediately taken for the relief of
the sufferer we need not describe. They were doubtless well intended,
and were, perhaps, as well adapted to stave off the coming evil day
as any that Dr Fillgrave, or even the great Sir Omicron Pie might
have used.

And then Dr Thorne arrived.

"Oh, doctor! doctor!" exclaimed Lady Scatcherd, almost hanging round
his neck in the hall. "What are we to do? What are we to do? He's
very bad."

"Has he spoken?"

"No; nothing like a word: he has made one or two muttered sounds;
but, poor soul, you could make nothing of it--oh, doctor! doctor! he
has never been like this before."

It was easy to see where Lady Scatcherd placed any such faith as she
might still have in the healing art. "Mr Rerechild is here and has
seen him," she continued. "I thought it best to send for two, for
fear of accidents. He has done someth