The sun was streaming in a rich flood of yellow light through a small skylight, and playing its merry gambols on the floor, when I awoke. The birds, too, were singing; and the hum of the street noises, mellowed by distance, broke not unpleasantly on the ear. It did not take me long to remember where I was, and why. The conversation of the evening before recurred at once to my mind; and hope, stronger than ever before I felt it, filled my heart. It was clear Basset could place little value on such services as mine; and if I could only contrive to make it his interest to part with me, he would not hesitate about it. I resolved that, whatever price he put upon my freedom, if in my power I should pay it. My next plan was to find out, through some of the persons in correspondence with France, the means of reaching that country, in whose military service I longed to enroll myself. Had I but the papers of my poor friend Charles de Meudon, there had been little difficulty in this; but unfortunately they were seized by Major Barton on the day of his death, and I had never seen them since. While I revolved these thoughts within myself I heard the merry notes of a girl's voice, singing apparently in the very room with me. I started up and looked about me, and now perceived that what seemed so like a drop curtain' the night before was nothing more or less than a very large patchwork quilt, suspended on a line across the entire attic, from the other side of which came the sounds in question. It was clear, both from the melody and the voice, that she could not be a servant; and somewhat curious to know more of my fair neighbor, I rose gently, and slipping on my clothes, approached the boundary of my territory with noiseless step. A kind of whistling noise interrupted every now and then the lady's song, and an occasional outbreak of impatience would burst forth in the middle of the “Arrah, will you marry me, dear Alley Croker?” by some malediction on a “black knot” or a broken string. I peeped over the “drop,” and beheld the figure of a young, plump, and pretty girl, busily engaged in lacing her stays,--an occupation which accounted equally for the noise of the rushing staylace and the bit of peevishness I had heard. I quite forgot how inadvisable was the indulgence of my curiosity in my admiration of my fair neighbor, whose buxom figure, not the less attractive for the shortness of her drapery, showed itself to peculiar advantage as she bent to one side and the other in her efforts to fasten the impracticable bodice. A mass of rich brown hair, on which the sun was playing, fell over her neck and on her shoulders, and half concealed her round, well-turned arms as they plied their busy task. [Illustration: Peeping Tom 166] “Well, ain't my heart broke with you, entirely?” exclaimed she, as a stubborn knot stopped all further progress.