“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 —