Bradley Headstone’s face had changed during this latter recital, and he had observed the speaker with a more sustained attention.

“Do you know,” said he, after a pause, during which they walked on side by side, “that I believe I could tell you your name, if I tried?”

“Prove your opinion,” was the answer, accompanied with a stop and a stare. “Try.”

“Your name is Riderhood.”

“I’m blest if it ain’t,” returned that gentleman. “But I don’t know your’n.”

“That’s quite another thing,” said Bradley. “I never supposed you did.”