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.