After more than an hour spent in gradually becoming acquainted and familiar with the transporting change, from separate loneliness to mutual society and sympathy, the good-natured face of Mrs. Derham showed itself, to announce that Ethel's supper was ready. These words brought back to Edward's recollection his wife's journey, and consequent fatigues: he grew more desirous than Mrs. Derham to feed his poor famished bird, whose eyes, in spite of the joy that shone in them, began to look languid, and whose cheek was pale. The little supper-table was laid, and they sat down together. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu has recorded the pleasure to be reaped "When we meet with champagne and a chicken at last;" and perhaps social life contains no combination so full of enjoyment as a tête-à-tête supper. _Here_ it was, with its highest zest. They feared no prying eyes--they knew no ill: it was not a scanty hour of joy snatched from an age of pain--a single spark illuminating a long blank night. It came after separation, and possessed, therefore, the charm of novelty; but it was the prelude to a long reunion--the seal set on their being once again joined, to go through together each hour of the livelong day. Full of unutterable thankfulness and gladness, as were the minds of each, there was, besides, "A sacred and home-felt delight, A sober certainty of waking bliss," which is the crown and fulfilment of perfect human happiness. "Imparadised" by each other's presence--no doubt--no fear of division on the morrow-no dread of untoward event, suspicion, or blame, clouded the balmy atmosphere which their hearts created around them. No. Eden was required to enhance their happiness; there needed no "Crisped brooks, Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold;"-- no "Happy, rural seat, with various view," decked with "Flowers of all hue," "All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste;"-- nor "cool recess," nor "Vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove." In their narrow abode--their nook of a room, cut off from the world, redolent only of smoke and fog--their two fond hearts could build up bowers of delight, and store them with all of ecstasy which the soul of man can know, without any assistance of eye, or ear, or scent. So rich, and prodigal, and glorious, in its gifts, is faithful and true-hearted love,--when it knows the sacrifices which it must make to merit them, and consents willingly to forego vanity, selfishness, and the exactions of self-will, in unlimited and unregretted exchange.