He raised himself from the straw and stretched out his hands in the darkness. The walls of the shieling in which he was confined were of wood, and he did not doubt that had he not been disabled he could have forced his way out. As it was escape even yet might be possible. To feel again the fresh wind blowing across the hillside and see the clear light of the stars, and the dark green fields stretching under them--the thought gave him strength and courage. Feeling carefully along the walls of the shed, and searching for a loose plank he came to the door which opened from without. He stood listening for the tread of the sentry´s feet, but there was no sound audible but the beating of his own heart that throbbed wildly with the hope of escape. The door was not guarded. The planks of which the door was made, were light and had been roughly put together, but he found it impossible to make any impression upon them, though he strained and pulled till his wound broke out afresh. In the darkness he searched for a weapon that might assist him, but he could find nothing suited to his purpose. Again he followed the walls of the shed with his hands, searching carefully for a weak place in the timbers, but again he was unsuccessful. Then the great wave of hope subsided, and he threw himself once more upon the straw to compose his mind to meet with resignation the fate that was before him. There seemed to be no hope of escape left. By degrees he grew calm, and from some odd corner in his brain there came to his mind the lines-- “Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage.” Again and again they repeated themselves until they seemed almost to lose their meaning for him; but the feeling remained with him, and by and by he found himself looking forward to the morning with resignation. Suddenly in the unbroken quiet he heard the sound of footsteps on the causeway without; then the door of the shed was opened, someone entered, and the flash of a lantern for a moment dazzled his eyes. It was De Laprade, flushed with wine and somewhat unsteady in his gait. Closing the door behind him, he looked round and saw Gervase lying in the corner. “Eh, mon ami!” he said, laying down the lantern and removing his cloak, “but you have had a bad quarter of an hour. It was my fear that they would hang you at once, for these gentlemen are not nice in their manners nor long in their grace. It would give me much delight to measure swords with Galmoy, but the barbarian will not fight save when he is drunk, and then I am generally far from sober myself. These are not comfortable quarters,” he added abruptly, looking round him and shrugging his shoulders. “They are good enough for a dying man who has but a few hours to live,” said Gervase gravely.