not rouse
echoes in the literary world--

Through the long day he sat in languor or paced his room like one made
restless by pain. Only when the gloom of nightfall obliged him to light
his lamp did he at length sit down to the table and carefully revise
the proofs, pen in hand. When he had made up the packet for post, he
wrote to Earwaker.

'I had forgotten all about this thing. Proofs have gone to Dolby. I
have not signed; probably he would object to my doing so. As it is, the
paper can be ascribed to anyone, and attention thus excited. We shall
see paragraphs attributing it to men of mark--perhaps scandal will fix
it on a bishop. In any case, don't let out the secret. I beg this
seriously, and for a solid reason. Not a word to anyone, however
intimate. If Dolby betrays _your_ name, grin and bear it. I depend upon
your friendship.'

CHAPTER II

In a by-way which declines from the main thoroughfare of Exeter, and
bears the name of Longbrook Street, is a row of small houses placed
above long strips of sloping garden. They are old and plain, with no
architectural feature calling for mention, unless it be the latticed
porch which gives the doors an awkward quaintness. Just beyond, the
road crosses a hollow, and begins the ascent of a hill here interposed
between the city and the inland-winding valley of Exe. The little
terrace may be regarded as urban or rural, according to the tastes and
occasions of those who dwell there. In one direction, a walk of five
minutes will conduct to the middle of High Street, and in the other it
takes scarcely longer to reach the open country.

On the upper floor of one of these cottages, Godwin Peak had made his
abode. Sitting-room and bedchamber, furnished with homely comfort,
answered to his bachelor needs, and would allow of his receiving
without embarrassment any visitor whom fortune might send him. Of
quietness he was assured, for a widow and her son, alike remarkable for
sobriety of demeanour, were the only persons who shared the house with
him. Mrs. Roots could not compare in grace and skill with the little
Frenchwoman who had sweetened his existence at Peckham Rye, but her
zeal made amends for natural deficiency, and the timorous respect with
which she waited upon him was by no means disagreeable to Godwin. Her
reply to a request or suggestion was always, 'If you please, sir.'
Throughout the day she went so tranquilly about her domestic duties,
that Godwin seldom heard a