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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:
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