And perhaps these long separations might prepare her heart for a final parting, and so let in his original plan a few years hence. He prepared this manœuvre with some art: he told her, one day, he had been to Lancaster, and there fallen in with a friend, who had as good as promised him the place of a commercial traveller for a mercantile house. "A traveller!" said Mercy. "Heaven forbid! If you knew how I wearied for you when you went to Cumberland." "To Cumberland! How know you I went thither?" "Oh, I but guessed that; but now I know it, by your face. But go where thou wilt, the house is dull directly. Thou art our sunshine. Isn't he, my poppet?" "Well, well; if it kept me too long from thee, I could give it up. But, child, we must think of young master. You could manage the inn, and your mother the farm, without me; and I should be earning money on my side. I want to make a gentleman of him." "Anything for him," said Mercy, "anything in the world." But the tears stood in her eyes. In furtherance of this deceit, Griffith did one day actually ride to Lancaster, and slept there. He wrote to Kate, from that town, to say he was detained by a slight illness, but hoped to be home in a week: and the next day brought Mercy home some ribbons, and told her he had seen the merchant, and his brother, and they had made him a very fair offer. "But I've a week to think of it," said he, "so there's no hurry." Mercy fixed her eyes on him in a very peculiar way, and made no reply. You must know that something very curious had happened whilst Griffith was gone to Lancaster. A travelling pedlar, passing by, was struck with the name on the signboard. "Halloo!" said he, "why here's a namesake of mine; I'll have a glass of his ale any way." So he came into the public room, and called for a glass; taking care to open his pack and display his inviting wares. Harry Vint served him. "Here's your health," said the pedlar. "You must drink with me, you must." "And welcome," said the old man. "Well," said the pedlar, "I do travel five counties; but for all that you are the first namesake I have found. I am Thomas Leicester, too, as sure as you are a living sinner." The old man laughed, and said, "Then no namesake of mine are you; for they call me Harry Vint. Thomas Leicester, he that keeps this inn now, is my son-in-law: he is gone to Lancaster this morning." The pedlar said that was a pity, he should have liked to see his namesake, and drink a glass with him. "Come again to-morrow," said Harry Vint, ironically. "Dame," he cried, "come hither. Here's another Thomas Leicester for ye, wants to see our one." Mrs. Vint turned her head, and inspected the pedlar from afar, as if he was some natural curiosity. "Where do you come from, young man?" said she. "Well, I came from Kendal last; but I am Cumberland born." "Why, that is where t'other comes from," suggested Paul Carrick, who was once more a frequenter of the house. "Like enow," said Mrs. Vint.