And while he slept he was wakened, yet but partly wakened, by a voice which seemed to belong to the borderland 'twixt sleep and waking.
"Alfgar, son of Anlaf, sleepest thou?"
"Surely I dream," thought he, and strove to sleep again.
"Alfgar, son of Anlaf, sleepest thou?"
Now he sat up, and beheld, or thought he beheld, a figure of one clothed in the attire of a minstrel, in the centre of the chamber.
"Art thou yet in the flesh like me?" he cried, repressing a shudder.
"Even so, a being of like mould, subject to pain and death."
"A prisoner, then; art doomed to die?"
"No prisoner, neither art thou, if thou willest to escape."
"Thou art the gleeman who insulted Sweyn."