When he had done, he sat down and gazed very earnestly at Henry's countenance, speaking, however, at the same time, as if to cover the scrutiny he was making. "And so, sir, you have lost your pocket-book," he said; "was it very valuable?" "It contained things to me of the utmost value," replied Henry: "a paper that can never be replaced, and a lock of my poor mother's hair, which I have carried over almost all the world with me." "Is she living or dead?" asked the farmer, with a good deal of agitation in his tone. "Dead," replied the young gentleman: "she died almost immediately after my birth, now six-and-twenty years ago." Farmer Graves moved uneasily in his chair; but he answered, looking up towards the ceiling-- "It must be found, that pocket-book--it must be recovered." "I have offered a reward of a hundred guineas to any one who will bring it to me," replied the young gentleman; "for one of your men and a man from the common came to help us, Mr. Graves, when we were attacked, otherwise I believe we should both have been murdered." "I think I can get it back," said the pedlar: "my own pack is gone for ever, but that's a small matter." "What will you take, sir?" said the farmer, abruptly, still looking at Henry. "I should think a little tea is the best thing for you." "If you please," replied the young gentleman; "but I think I must soon go on." "No, no," said the farmer warmly; "you had a great deal better stay here for to-night. There's the room my son sometimes has. It can be got ready for you in a minute, and I'll contrive to lodge friend Joshua here. I never thought to let two strange men into my house again, but now I am glad I did not shut you out." "Why so?" demanded Henry with a grave smile. "There--don't look so," cried the farmer, turning away his head; "you put me more and more in mind of her, every minute. Young gentleman," he continued, laying his large hand upon Henry's arm, "you think me very strange, I dare say; and I am strange--misfortunes have made me strange. But I'll tell you why I've shut all men out, up to this day, and why I am glad I have not shut out you. I was once as glad to see my fellow-creatures as any one, and I let one man into my house--a stranger to me, as you may be--a gentleman, too, who paid me a high price for a horse I had to sell, and was rich and smart in his apparel. I let him in, I say, and he stole away the most precious thing I had. He well-nigh broke my heart, sir, and well-nigh turned my brain; and I have never let another in within these doors till now." "But you know, Master Graves," said the pedlar, "that he did not do you the wrong that you once thought, so that should be some consolation to you."