ally, with the conviction that she did know him, and had
repudiated him for interested reasons. He wanted to load her name with
curses now; but this name had so long been sacred to him that he found he
could not bring his tongue to profane it.

Wrapped in prison blankets of a soiled and tattered condition, Hendon and
the King passed a troubled night. For a bribe the jailer had furnished
liquor to some of the prisoners; singing of ribald songs, fighting,
shouting, and carousing was the natural consequence. At last, a while
after midnight, a man attacked a woman and nearly killed her by beating
her over the head with his manacles before the jailer could come to the
rescue. The jailer restored peace by giving the man a sound clubbing
about the head and shoulders--then the carousing ceased; and after that,
all had an opportunity to sleep who did not mind the annoyance of the
moanings and groanings of the two wounded people.

During the ensuing week, the days and nights were of a monotonous
sameness as to events; men whose faces Hendon remembered more or less
distinctly, came, by day, to gaze at the 'impostor' and repudiate and
insult him; and by night the carousing and brawling went on with
symmetrical regularity. However, there was a change of incident at last.
The jailer brought in an old man, and said to him--

"The villain is in this room--cast thy old eyes about and see if thou
canst say which is he."

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.