point of being held, and it happened that a singular test of the
lad's moral character coincided with the proof of his intellectual
progress. In a neighbouring house lived an old man named Rawmarsh,
kindly but rather eccentric; he had once done a good business as a
printer, and now supported himself by such chance typographic work
of a small kind as friends might put in his way. He conceived an
affection for Godwin; often had the boy to talk with him of an
evening. On one such occasion, Mr. Rawmarsh opened a desk, took forth
a packet of newly printed leaves, and with a mysterious air silently
spread them before the boy's eyes. In an instant Godwin became aware
that he was looking at the examination papers which a day or two
hence would be set before him at school; he saw and recognised a
passage from the book of Virgil which his class had been reading.

'That is ~sub rosa~, you know,' whispered the old printer, with half
averted face.

Godwin shrank away, and could not resume the conversation thus
interrupted. On the following day he went about with a feeling of
guilt. He avoided the sight of Mr. Rawmarsh, for whom he had suddenly
lost all respect, and suffered torments in the thought that he
enjoyed an unfair advantage over his class-mates. The Latin passage
happened to be one which he knew thoroughly well; there was no need,
even had he desired, to 'look it up'; but in sitting down to the
examination, he experienced a sense of shame and self-rebuke. So
strong were the effects of this, that he voluntarily omitted the
answer to a certain important question which he could have 'done'
better than any of the other boys, thus endeavouring to adjust in
his conscience the terms of competition, though in fact no such
sacrifice was called for. He came out at the head of the class, but