When they arrived at the cottage, Spikeman made a very satisfactory bargain for board and lodging for a few days, stating that they charged so much at the village alehouse that he could not afford to stay there, and that he expected to have a good job at Squire Mathews's, up at the mansion-house. As soon as this arrangement was completed, they returned back to the copse near to the mansion-house, Joey rolling the knife-grinder's wheel. "You see, Joey," said Spikeman, "the first thing necessary will be to stimulate curiosity; we may have to wait a day or two before the opportunity may occur; but, if necessary, I will wait a month. That Miss Mathews will very often be found on the seat by the copse, either alone or with her cousin, I take to be certain, as all ladies have their favourite retreats. I do not intend that they should see me yet; I must make an impression first. Now, leave the wheel on the outside, and come with me: do not speak." As soon as they were in the copse, Spikeman reconnoitred very carefully, to ascertain if either of the young ladies were on the bench, and finding no one there, he returned to Joey. "They cannot come without our hearing their footsteps," said Spikeman; "so now we must wait here patiently." Spikeman threw himself down on the turf in front of the copse, and Joey followed his example. "Come, Joey, we may as well read a little to pass away the time; I have brought two volumes of Byron with me." For half an hour they were thus occupied, when they heard the voice of Miss Mathews singing as before as she came down the walk. Spikeman rose and peeped through the foliage. "She is alone," said he, "which is just what I wished. Now, Joey, I am going to read to you aloud." Spikeman then began to read in the masterly style which we have before referred to:-- "`I loved, and was beloved again; They tell me, Sir, you never knew Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true I shorten all my joys and pain, To you 'twould seem absurd as vain; But all now are not born to reign, Or o'er their passions, or as you There, o'er themselves and nations too, I am, or rather was, a Prince, A chief of thousands, and could lead Them on when each would foremost bleed, But would not o'er myself The like control. But to resume: I loved, and was beloved again; In sooth it is a happy doom-- But yet where happiness ends in pain.' "I am afraid that is but too true, my dear boy," said Spikeman, laying down the book; "Shakespeare has most truly said, `The course of true love never did run smooth.' Nay, he cannot be said to be original in that idea, for Horace and most of the Greek and Latin poets have said much the same thing before him; however, let us go on again-- "`We met in secret, and the hour Which led me to my lady's bower Was fiery expectation's dower; The days and nights were nothing--all Except the hour which doth recall, In the long lapse from youth to age, No other like itself.'