Alfgar drank moderately, for sooth to say it was invigorating and welcome that cold day, but Higbald finished the bowl then and there, and then staggering down, drew the outer bolt in such a way that it missed the staple, which fact he was too drunk to perceive.
Alfgar watched the action with eager eyes. It was the first time there had been even a chance of escape.
Meanwhile the evening sped by; and the noisy crew below quarrelled and sang, drank and shouted, while the bright moonlight --brighter as it was reflected from the snow of that December night--stole over the scene.
Not till then did Alfgar pass silently through the open door, and listen at the head of the staircase. Before him was the outer door, the key in the lock. The question was--Could he reach it unobserved by men or mastiff?
Liberty was worth the attempt. He descended the stairs softly. At the bottom he looked around. The door was fastened which led into the large hall where the gaolers were drinking. He advanced to the outer portal, when he heard the growl of the dog from behind the inner door.
The moment was critical. Evidently his masters did not comprehend the action of the too faithful brute, for they cursed and swore at it. Even then it growled, and the drunken fools-- drunken they must have been indeed--threw some heavy missile at it, which caused it to yelp and cease its growling.
Just then something flashed in the ray of moonlight which stole in through an aperture over the door.
It was a sharp double-edged sword.
He grasped it with eagerness. It was now a case of liberty or death. He knew how to wield it full well.
Stealthily he turned the key and the door stood open. Still his captors sang, and he caught the words: