Lucy started up and looked confusedly round, then gazing towards the sky she became conscious that Mr William Jarker was upon the housetop amongst his pigeons and sooty lathen architecture, gazing heavily down upon her window. There was a frown upon her brow as she slowly and wearily put aside books and slate, bathed her throbbing temples, and smoothed the escaped locks; and then she stole softly to the corner of the window, where, unseen from above, she could lean her cheek against the paintless frame, and listen to the song of the bird. Sighing heavily as it ceased, she uncovered her sewing-machine, wiped off the dust, and prepared her work for the coming day. Now she had to cross the room and make sundry little domestic arrangements; now to seek here, now there; but all was done silently, so as not to rouse the sleepers in the next room; though there was none of the old elasticity, for she moved about wearily, sighing as she went. And now, first one and then another familiar sound told her that the time for labour--that morning was there once more; many steps were heard descending the stairs and passing along the court, the cooing of the pigeons came from the housetops, and the rattle of vehicles rose more loudly from the distant streets. "Up and dressed, Lucy?" said a voice from the adjoining room. "Yes, mother dear," was the reply; and now, after waiting some time for this signal, the wheel spun round, the keen needle darted up and down, and with its sharp click, click, click, sped on Lucy's sewing-machine. Then the bedroom-door opened, and Septimus Hardon made his appearance--a worn expression struggling hard with the smile that greeted Lucy, as he tenderly kissed her, and then hurrying out, he went for his morning walk, to puzzle over his own weakness, his poverty, and the great problem of things in general. Volume Two, Chapter XII. IN HOSPITAL. The more a poor and sensitive man confines himself within doors, the more he troubles himself with the fancy that everyone he meets is staring at and watching him when he stirs out; and this fancy was very strong on Septimus Hardon one day--one very miserable sloppy wet day, as he made his way towards Lower Series-place, on account of dilapidations in his boots.