When the vinegar and the balsam were brought, by a servant-woman apparently nearly as old as himself, he applied his remedies with his own hands; and often in doing so he muttered something to himself, but taking care that what he now said should not be heard.
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."