"At least bear a message to one who will think I have deserted him in his need."
Again they were silent.
They had ascended a rough staircase. At the summit a passage led past two or three doors to one made of the strongest plank, and strengthened with iron.
They opened it, thrust him in, showed him, by the light of their torches, a bed of straw in the corner.
"There you can lie and sleep as peacefully as at Carisbrooke," said one of his guards.
"And let me tell you," added Higbald, "that it will be certain death to try to get away; for if you could escape me, my dog Wolf, who prowls about by day and night, would tear you in pieces before any one could help you. He has killed half-a-dozen men in his day."
Like a poor wounded deer which retires to his thicket to die, Alfgar threw himself down upon the bed of straw. His reflections were very, very bitter.
"What would Edmund think of him?"
"He will know I am faithful. He will not think that the lad whose life he saved has deserted him. He will search till he find me even here."
Thus in alternate hope and despair he sank at last to sleep-- nature had its way--even as the criminal has slept on the rack.