"And such," said the youth, as he listened to the words of his companion, "is in truth the impression felt in each locality where the pick and spade of the Roman has left trace of his conquering arm. The feelings you have just described, the shadowy remembrance such locality seems to conjure up, I have oft-times felt whilst at Clopton."
The player started. "At Clopton?" he said, as he looked curiously at the expressive countenance of his companion. In both there was a sort of dreamy recollection of having met before. "At Clopton, boy? True, there is a Roman trench in the park there. And so, then, thou knowest fair Warwickshire?"
The youth sighed,—his usual answer when his companion, during their short acquaintance, had inquired his history. "I do," he said.
"And know you Stratford-upon-Avon?" inquired the player.
"But too well," answered the youth, again sighing.
"Ah," said the player thoughtfully, "then well may I."
"And wherefore?" said the lad, looking archly in his face.
"I was born there," returned the player. "Have friends, wife, children at Stratford."
"And your name?" inquired the youth.
"Shakespeare, for fault of a better," said the player. And the pair soon afterwards left the Roman ruin and wended on towards London.