nything 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.

No one ever called upon Mr. Peak, but he was often from home for many
hours together, probably on visits to great people in city or country.
It seemed rather strange, however, that the postman so seldom brought
anything for him. Though he had now been more than two months in the
house, he had received only three letters, and those at long intervals.

Noticeable was the improvement in his health since his arrival here.
The pallor of his cheeks was giving place to a wholesome tinge; his eye
was brighter; he showed more disposition to converse, and was readier
with pleasant smiles. Mrs. Roots even heard him singing in his
bedroom--though, oddly enough, it was a secular song on Sunday morning.
The weekly bills for food, which at first had been very modest, grew
richer in items. Godwin had, in fact, never felt so well. He extended
his walks in every direction, sometimes rambling up the valley to
sleepy little towns where he could rest in the parlours of old