Then there were the Brussels carpets, the grates that glittered like polished silver, the black wolf and dun deer skins, and the eight-light chandeliers of crystal and Venetian bronze, with armour, pictures, statuary, and rare books in gorgeous bindings--in short, the tout-ensemble of Laurel Lodge, wherein taste, wealth, luxury, and comfort, were all so rarely and singularly combined, formed to the mind of poor Morley a powerful contrast to the cabin of Tom Bartelot's 200-ton brig, and to the before-mentioned wigwam, with its roof of palm-leaves and trellised walls of reeds and bamboo cane, through which the mosquitoes and the malaria came together by night. "It is Morley, papa," said Ethel, as they entered; "he has come by the very train we expected, and has walked all the way from Acton station." "The express from Liverpool; but, ah, my dear sir, it was not even quick enough for me. I would have come by telegraph if I could," said the young man, as Mr. Basset shook him warmly by the hand. "Welcome back to England! welcome home, Morley!" said he. "Sit beside me, lad, and let me see how you look! Ring for wine and more glasses, Ethel. And so, after all your toil and danger, worldly matters have not prospered with you, eh?" "No, sir," sighed the young man, with his eyes fixed tenderly on Ethel, who had flung her hat and parasol on the sofa, and seated herself beside him; "I have come back to England a poorer fellow than when I left it." "I am deeply sorry for that, Morley--port or cherry? Under the sideboard are some Marcobrunner, Johannisberg, and Sauterne, too, I think--port you prefer?--then the bottle stands with you. Sorry for your sake, and the sake of others, to hear what you say." As he spoke he did not glance at Ethel, who was filling Morley's glass; so she sighed and trembled, for it seemed, by his tone and manner, as if he still acknowledged the fact of her engagement with Morley Ashton, but considered it all at an end now. "Matters have not prospered with me, either," said Mr. Basset, who was a healthy and florid-looking man, nearer fifty than forty, however, but with the dark hair already well seamed with grey; "quite the reverse," he continued, emphatically; "so that I cannot upbraid you with being on worse terms with fortune than myself. You have, of course, heard of all that has occurred?" "Ethel has told me all," said Morley, sadly. "Aye, fortune is fickle, and was well portrayed as blind, and as Shakspere has it:-- "'Will fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? She either gives a stomach and no food,-- Such are the poor in health; or else a feast, And takes away the stomach; such are the rich, That have abundance and enjoy it not." "He can console himself with scraps from Shakspere, while my heart is bursting," thought Morley.