Not even Dr. Grantly had a more holy horror of those who would interfere in the affairs of the hospital; he was every inch a churchman, and though he was not very fond of Dr. Grantly personally, that arose from there not being room in the hospital for two people so much alike as the doctor and himself, rather than from any dissimilarity in feeling. Mr. Bunce was inclined to think that the warden and himself could manage the hospital without further assistance; and that, though the bishop was the constitutional visitor, and as such entitled to special reverence from all connected with John Hiram’s will, John Hiram never intended that his affairs should be interfered with by an archdeacon.

At the present moment, however, these cares were off his mind, and he was looking at his warden, as though he thought the music heavenly, and the musician hardly less so.

As Bold walked silently over the lawn, Mr. Harding did not at first perceive him, and continued to draw his bow slowly across the plaintive wires; but he soon found from his audience that some stranger was there, and looking up, began to welcome his young friend with frank hospitality.

“Pray, Mr. Harding—pray don’t let me disturb you,” said Bold; “you know how fond I am of sacred music.”

“Oh! it’s nothing,” said the precentor, shutting up the book and then opening it again as he saw the delightfully imploring look of his old friend Bunce. Oh, Bunce, Bunce, Bunce, I fear that after all thou art but a flatterer. “Well, I’ll just finish it then; it’s a favourite little bit of Bishop’s; and then, Mr. Bold, we’ll have a stroll and a chat till Eleanor comes in and gives us tea.” And so Bold sat down on the soft turf to listen, or rather to think how, after such sweet harmony, he might best introduce a theme of so much discord, to disturb the peace of him who was so ready to welcome him kindly.

Bold thought that the performance was soon over, for he felt that he had a somewhat difficult task, and he almost regretted the final leave-taking of the last of the old men, slow as they were in going through their adieux.

Bold’s heart was in his mouth, as the precentor made some ordinary but kind remark as to the friendliness of the visit.

“One evening call,” said he, “is worth ten in the morning. It’s all formality in the morning; real social talk never begins till after dinner. That’s why I dine early, so as to get as much as I can of it.”

“Quite true, Mr. Harding,” said the other; “but I fear I’ve reversed the order of things, and I owe you much apology for troubling you on business at such an hour; but it is on business that I have called just now.”

Mr. Harding looked blank and annoyed; there was something in the tone of the young man’s voice which told him that the interview was intended to be disagreeable, and he shrank back at finding his kindly greeting so repulsed.

“I wish to speak to you about the hospital,” continued Bold.

“Well, well, anything I can tell you I shall be most happy—”

“It’s about the accounts.”

“Then, my dear fellow, I can tell you nothing, for I’m as ignorant as a child. All I know is, that they pay me £800 a year. Go to Chadwick, he knows all about the accounts; and now tell me, will poor Mary Jones ever get the use of her limb again?”

“Well, I think she will, if she’s careful; but, Mr. Harding, I hope you won’t object to discuss with me what I have to say about the hospital.”

Mr. Harding gave a deep, long-drawn sigh. He did object, very strongly object, to discuss any such subject with John Bold; but he had not the business tact of Mr. Chadwick, and did not know how to relieve himself from the coming evil; he sighed sadly, but made no answer.

“I have the greatest regard for you, Mr. Harding,” continued Bold; “the truest respect, the most sincere—”

“Thank ye, thank ye, Mr. Bold,” interjaculated the precentor somewhat impatiently; “I’m much obliged, but never mind that; I’m as likely to be in the wrong as another man—quite as likely.”

“But, Mr. Harding, I must express what I feel, lest you should think there is personal enmity in what I’m going to do.”

“Personal enmity! Going to do! Why, you’re not going to cut my throat, nor put me into the Ecclesiastical Court—”

Bold tried to laugh, but he couldn’t. He was quite in earnest, and determined in his course, and couldn’t make a joke of it. He walked on awhile in silence before he recommenced his attack, during which Mr. Harding, who had still the bow in his hand, played rapidly on an imaginary violoncello. “I fear there is reason to think that John Hiram’s will is not carried out to the letter, Mr. Harding,” said the young man at last; “and I have been asked to see into it.”

“Very well, I’ve no objection on earth; and now we need not say another word about it.”

“Only one word more, Mr. Harding. Chadwick has referred me to Cox and Cummins, and I think it my duty to apply to them for some statement about the hospital.