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 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-tip-toe 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."
Then he sauntered toward his ante-room and disappeared. The old man dropped upon his knees and whispered—
"God be thanked, thou'rt come again, my master! I believed thou wert dead these seven years, and lo, here thou art alive! I knew thee the moment I saw thee; and main hard work it was to keep a stony countenance and seem to see none here but tuppenny knaves and rub-
