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 anything except the voice of the cuckoo-clock, a pleasant sound to him.  Her son, employed at a nurseryman’s, was a great sinewy fellow with a face of such ruddiness that it seemed to diffuse warmth; on Sunday afternoon, whatever the state of the sky, he sat behind the house in his shirt-sleeves, and smoked a pipe as he contemplated the hart’s-tongue which grew there upon a rockery.

’The gentleman from London’—­so Mrs. Roots was wont to style her lodger in speaking with neighbours—­had brought his books with him; they found place on a few shelves.  His microscope had its stand by the window, and one or two other scientific implements lay about the room.  The cabinets bequeathed to him by Mr. Gunnery he had sent to Twybridge, to remain in his mother’s care.  In taking the lodgings, he described himself merely as a student, and gave his landlady to understand that he hoped to remain under her roof for at least a year.  Of his extreme respectability, the widow could entertain no doubt, for he dressed with aristocratic finish, attended services at the Cathedral and elsewhere very frequently, and made the most punctual payments.  Moreover, a casual remark had informed her that he was on friendly terms with Mr. Martin Warricombe, whom her son knew as a gentleman of distinction.  He often sat up very late at night, but, doubtless, that was the practice of Londoners.  No lodger could have given less trouble, or have acknowledged with more courtesy all that was done for his convenience.