Party is Nature too, and you shall see
    By force of Logic how they both agree: 
    The Many in the One, the One in Many;
    All is not Some, nor Some the same as Any: 
    Genus holds species, both are great or small;
    One genus highest, one not high at all;
    Each species has its differentia too,
    This is not That, and He was never You,
    Though this and that are AYES, and you and he
    Are like as one to one, or three to three.

No gossip about Mr. Casaubon’s will had yet reached Ladislaw:  the air seemed to be filled with the dissolution of Parliament and the coming election, as the old wakes and fairs were filled with the rival clatter of itinerant shows; and more private noises were taken little notice of.  The famous “dry election” was at hand, in which the depths of public feeling might be measured by the low flood-mark of drink.  Will Ladislaw was one of the busiest at this time; and though Dorothea’s widowhood was continually in his thought, he was so far from wishing to be spoken to on the subject, that when Lydgate sought him out to tell him what had passed about the Lowick living, he answered rather waspishly—­

“Why should you bring me into the matter?  I never see Mrs. Casaubon, and am not likely to see her, since she is at Freshitt.  I never go there.  It is Tory ground, where I and the `Pioneer’ are no more welcome than a poacher and his gun.”

The fact was that Will had been made the more susceptible by observing that Mr. Brooke, instead of wishing him, as before, to come to the Grange oftener than was quite agreeable to himself, seemed now to contrive that he should go there as little as possible.  This was a shuffling concession of Mr. Brooke’s to Sir James Chettam’s indignant remonstrance; and Will, awake to the slightest hint in this direction, concluded that he was to be kept away from the Grange on Dorothea’s account.  Her friends, then, regarded him with some suspicion?  Their fears were quite superfluous:  they were very much mistaken if they imagined that he would put himself forward as a needy adventurer trying to win the favor of a rich woman.

Until now Will had never fully seen the chasm between himself and Dorothea—­until now that he was come to the brink of it, and saw her on the other side.  He began, not without some inward rage, to think of going away from the neighborhood:  it would be impossible for him to show any further interest in Dorothea without subjecting himself to disagreeable imputations—­perhaps even in her mind, which others might try to poison.

“We are forever divided,” said Will.  “I might as well be at Rome; she would be no farther from me.”  But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.  There were plenty of reasons why he should not go—­public reasons why he should not quit his post at this crisis, leaving Mr. Brooke in the lurch when he needed “coaching” for