"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."