“What!” cried I, with my blood running cold.  “We make good the loss, Master Stickles!  Every farthing we have in the world, and the labour of our lives to boot, will never make good the tenth of it.”

“It would cut me to the heart,” he answered, laying his hand on mine, “to hear of such a deadly blow to you and your good mother.  And this farm; how long, John, has it been in your family?”

“For at least six hundred years,” I said, with a foolish pride that was only too like to end in groans; “and some people say, by a Royal grant, in the time of the great King Alfred.  At any rate, a Ridd was with him throughout all his hiding-time.  We have always held by the King and crown:  surely none will turn us out, unless we are guilty of treason?”

“My son,” replied Jeremy very gently, so that I could love him for it, “not a word to your good mother of this unlucky matter.  Keep it to yourself, my boy, and try to think but little of it.  After all, I may be wrong:  at any rate, least said best mended.”

“But Jeremy, dear Jeremy, how can I bear to leave it so?  Do you suppose that I can sleep, and eat my food, and go about, and look at other people, as if nothing at all had happened?  And all the time have it on my mind, that not an acre of all the land, nor even our old sheep-dog, belongs to us, of right at all!  It is more than I can do, Jeremy.  Let me talk, and know the worst of it.”

“Very well,” replied Master Stickles, seeing that both the doors were closed; “I thought that nothing could move you, John; or I never would have told you.  Likely enough I am quite wrong; and God send that I be so.  But what I guessed at some time back seems more than a guess, now that you have told me about these wondrous jewels.  Now will you keep, as close as death, every word I tell you?”

“By the honour of a man, I will.  Until you yourself release me.”

“That is quite enough, John.  From you I want no oath; which, according to my experience, tempts a man to lie the more, by making it more important.  I know you now too well to swear you, though I have the power.  Now, my lad, what I have to say will scare your mind in one way, and ease it in another.  I think that you have been hard pressed—­I can read you like a book, John—­by something which that old villain said, before he stole the necklace.  You have tried not to dwell upon it; you have even tried to make light of it for the sake of the women:  but on the whole it has grieved you more than even this dastard robbery.”

“It would have done so, Jeremy Stickles, if I could once have believed it.  And even without much belief, it is so against our manners, that it makes me miserable.  Only think of loving Lorna, only think of kissing her; and then remembering that her father had destroyed the life of mine!”

“Only think,” said Master Stickles, imitating my very voice, “of Lorna loving you, John, of Lorna kissing you, John; and all the while saying to herself, ‘this man’s father murdered mine.’  Now look at it in Lorna’s way as well as in your own way.  How one-sided all men are!”