Villiers had not been returned long, when the waiter came in, and informed them, that his mistress declined serving their dinner, till her bill of the morning was paid; and then he left the room. The gentle pair looked at each other, and laughed. "We must wait till Fanny comes, I fear," said Ethel; "for my purse is literally empty." "And if Miss Derham should not come?" remarked Villiers. "But she will!--she has delayed, but I am perfectly certain that she will come in the course of the day: I do not feel the least doubt about it." To quicken the passage of time, Ethel employed herself in netting a purse, (the inutility of which Villiers smilingly remarked,) while her husband read to her some of the scenes from Shakspeare's play of "Troilus and Cressida." The profound philosophy, and intense passion, of this drama, adorned by the most magnificent poetry that can even be found in the pages of this prince of poets, caused each to hang attentive and delighted upon their occupation. As it grew dark, Villiers stirred up the fire, and still went on; till having with difficulty decyphered the lines-- "She was beloved--she loved;--she is, and doth; But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth,"-- he closed the books. "It is in vain," he said; "our liberator does not come; and these churls will not give us lights." "It is early yet, dearest," replied Ethel;--"not yet four o'clock. Would Troilus and Cressida have repined at having been left darkling a few minutes? How much happier we are than all the heroes and heroines that ever lived or were imagined! they grasped at the mere shadow of the thing, whose substance we absolutely possess. Let us know and acknowledge our good fortune. God knows, I do, and am beyond words grateful!" "It is much to be grateful for--sharing the fortunes of a ruined man!" "You do not speak as Troilus does," replied Ethel smiling: "he knew better the worth of love compared with worldly trifles." "You would have me protest, then," said Villiers;-- "But, alas! I am as true as truth's simplicity, And simpler than the infancy of truth;" "so that all I can say is, that you are a very ill-used little girl, to be mated as you are--so buried, with all your loveliness, in this obscurity--so bound, though akin to heaven, to the basest dross of earth." "You are poetical, dearest, and I thank you. For my own part, I am in love with ill luck. I do not think we should have discovered how very dear we are to each other, had we sailed for ever on a summer sea."