the centre of the house; and Martha, who had seen him, said he was a
young man, and a handsome man--and she herself a young woman unprotected
and alone!--It was awkward, very awkward! Was it not very awkward? What
was she to do?

Nothing could be done that night; so far was clear; but we praised her
prudence, promised to call at Upton the next day, and if necessary, to
speak to this new lodger, who might, after all, be no very formidable
person; and quite relieved by the vent which she had given to her
scruples, she departed in her usual good spirits.

Early the next morning she re-appeared. "She would not have the new
lodger disturbed for the world! He was a Pole. One doubtless of those
unfortunate exiles. He had told Mrs. Davies that he was a Polish
gentleman desirous chiefly of good air, cheapness, and retirement Beyond
a doubt he was one of those unhappy fugitives. He looked grave, and
pale, and thoughtful, quite like a hero of romance. Besides, he was the
very person who a week before had caught hold of the reins when that
little restive pony had taken fright at the baker's cart, and nearly
backed Bill and herself into the great gravel-pit on Lanton Common. Bill
had entirely lost all command over the pony, and but for the stranger's
presence of mind, she did not know what would have become of them.
Surely I must remember her telling me the circumstance? Besides, he was
unfortunate! He was poor! He was an exile! She would not be the means of
driving him from the asylum which he had chosen for all the world!--No!
not for all my geraniums!" an expression which is by no means the
anti-climax that it seems--for in the eyes of a florist, and that
florist an enthusiast and a woman, what is this rusty fusty dusty musty
bit of earth, called the world, compared to a stand of bright flowers?

And finding, upon inquiry, that M. Choynowski (so he called himself) had
brought a letter of recommendation from a respectable London tradesman,
and that there was every appearance of his being, as our fair young
friend had conjectured, a foreigner in distress, my father not only
agreed that it would be a cruel attempt to drive him from his new
home, (a piece of tyranny which, even in this land of freedom, might,
I suspect, have been managed in the form of an offer of double rent, by
that grand despot, money,) but resolved to offer the few attentions in
our poor power, to one whom every look and word proclaimed him to be, in
the large