 all manner of pleasant
accidents which surely, sooner or later, must bring him into contact with
families of the better sort. One does hear of such occurrences, no doubt. In
every town there is some one or other whom a stranger may approach: a medical
man - a local antiquary - a librarian - a philanthropist; and with moderate
advantages of mind and address, such casual connections may at times be the
preface to intimacy, with all resulting benefits. But experience of Exeter had
taught him how slight would have been his chance of getting on friendly terms
with any mortal if he had depended solely on his personal qualities. After a
nine months' residence, and with the friendship of such people as the
Warricombes, he was daily oppressed by his isolation amid this community of
English folk. He had done his utmost to adopt the tone of average polished life.
He had sat at the tables of worthy men, and conversed freely with their sons and
daughters; he exchanged greetings in the highways: but this availed him nothing.
Now, as on the day of his arrival, he was an alien - a lodger. What else had he
ever been, since boyhood? A lodger in Kingsmill, a lodger in London, a lodger in
Exeter. Nay, even as a boy he could scarcely have been said to live at home, for
from the dawn of conscious intelligence he felt himself out of place among
familiar things and people, at issue with prevalent opinions. Was he never to
win a right of citizenship, never to have a recognised place among men
associated in the duties and pleasures of life?
    Sunday was always a day of weariness and despondency, and at present he
suffered from the excitement of his conversation with Sidwell, followed as it
had been by a night of fever. Extravagant hope had given place to a depression
which could see nothing beyond the immediate gloom. Until mid-day he lay in bed.
After dinner, finding the solitude of his little room intolerable, he went out
to walk in the streets.
    Not far from his door some children had gathered in a quiet corner, and were
playing at a game on the pavement with pieces of chalk. As he drew near, a
policeman, observing the little group, called out to them in a stern voice:
    »Now then! what are you doing there? Don't you know what day it is?«
    The youngsters fled, conscious of shameful delinquency.
    There it was! There spoke the civic voice, the social rule, the public
sentiment! Godwin felt that the policeman had rebuked him,
