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 rubbish o’ the streets.  I am old and poor, Sir Miles; but say the word and I will go forth and proclaim the truth though I be strangled for it.”

“No,” said Hendon; “thou shalt not.  It would ruin thee, and yet help but little in my cause.  But I thank thee, for thou hast given me back somewhat of my lost faith in my kind.”

The old servant became very valuable to Hendon and the King; for he dropped in several times a day to ‘abuse’ the former, and always smuggled in a few delicacies to help out the prison bill of fare; he also furnished the current news.  Hendon reserved the dainties for the King; without them his Majesty might not have survived, for he was not able to eat the coarse and wretched food provided by the jailer.  Andrews was obliged to confine himself to brief visits, in order to avoid suspicion; but he managed to impart a fair degree of information each time —­information delivered in a low voice, for Hendon’s benefit, and interlarded with insulting epithets delivered in a louder voice for the benefit of other hearers.

So, little by little, the story of the family came out.  Arthur had been dead six years.  This loss, with the absence of news from Hendon, impaired the father’s health; he believed he was going to die, and he wished to see Hugh and Edith settled in life before he passed away; but Edith begged hard for delay, hoping for Miles’s return; then the letter came which brought the news of Miles’s death; the shock prostrated Sir Richard; he believed