Hendon glanced up, and experienced a pleasant sensation for the first time

since he had been in the jail. He said to himself, 'This is Blake Andrews, a

servant all his life in my father's family — a good honest soul, with a right

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Heart in his breast. That is, formerly. But none are true now; all are liars. This

man will know me — and will deny me, too, like the rest.'

The old man gazed around the room, glanced at each face in turn, and finally

said:

'I see none here but paltry knaves, scum o' the streets. Which is he?'

The jailer laughed.

'Here,' he said; 'scan this big animal, and grant me an opinion.'

The old man approached, and looked Hendon over, long and earnestly, then

shook his head and said:

'Marry, this is no Hendon — nor ever was!'

'Right! Thy old eyes are sound yet. An I were Sir Hugh, I would take the

shabby carle and —'

The jailer finished by lifting himself a-tiptoe with an imaginary halter, at the

Same time making a gurgling noise in his throat suggestive of suffocation. The

old man said, vindictively:

'Let him bless God an he fare no worse. An I had the handling o' the villain,

he should roast, or I am no true man!'

The jailer laughed a pleasant hyena laugh, and said:

'Give him a piece of thy mind, old man — they all do it. Thou'lt find it good

diversion.'