One more friend was found, as faithful and as loyal, but more humble. You remember the country lad called Jack, who had fallen into Merridew's clutches and had already entered under his guidance upon the career of a rogue. He it was who gave evidence which helped to connect all four plotters with the plot. He it was, also, who carried off the old woman and Doll by the waggon to Horsham in Sussex. We thought no more about him. He had done his service and had received his pay and had gone his own way. The lad had an honest look--a wholesome country-bred face, different from the pale cheeks of the boys and the swollen faces of the men with whom he had begun to sit. In a word, he was not yet branded with the mark of Cain. But, I say, we had forgotten him. He was one of the characters in the last scene but one of the play which we were performing with Miss Jenny Wilmot of Drury Lane Theatre as the heroine. Now, one morning, while I was playing something to please our prisoner in her cell the turnkey brought us a visitor. It was none other than the country lad. He stood at the open door and pulled his hair, holding his hat in one hand. 'Your servant to command, Madame,' he said timidly, pronouncing his words in the broad country manner which is too uncouth to be presented to eyes polite. 'Why,' cried Jenny, 'it is Jack! How fares it, honest Jack?' and so took him by the hand as if he was of her station. Jenny had no sense of what is due to rank and station. 'Why,' she said, when I spoke to her about it, 'we are all players in the same company: and we all like speaking parts.' 'And how did you leave Mother and Doll?' she went on. 'Purely well, Madame. They got out of the waggon about two miles from Horsham at a tavern by the roadside. It was shut up. Doll saw it. "Mother," she said, "it would do for us." They wanted me to stay, and if they could get the House I should be tapster and drawer. But I thought I would go home. So I left them.' 'And then you went home.' 'Ay--I went home. But they didn't want me there. And the parson talked about the whipping-post. So I came away again. And I found out where you were, Madame, and I came to offer my humble services.' 'Thank you kindly, Jack. But what can I do with you here?' 'I will fetch and carry. I want no wages but just to live. Let me stay with your Ladyship.' He looked so earnest and so honest that Jenny turned to me. 'He might be useful. I believe he is honest. What say you, Will?' What could I say? Should I turn away a friend when we might want all the friends we could find? How we were to keep our new servant was more than I knew: however, there he was, upon our hands. It was a kindly act of Jenny, when her fortunes were at their worst to take over this poor lad who was thrown upon the world without a trade--save that of rustic labourer, which is useless in London: without a character: and without friends. Jenny's consent saved him--he could remain honest.