"It's gone," he said; "so much the better; I shall follow all the sooner."
He sat down again and waited. His restlessness and impatience had disappeared; a strong determination settled upon his face. He looked prepared for any emergency, and was ready to catch at any chance, however desperate, which might aid his plans.
The lamp in the corridor had been lighted while he sat there; the light struggled through the grating over the door, and played across the room among the shadows cast by the bars.
There he sat, listening to every sound from without with the stealthy quiet of a panther that sees his prey and is prepared to spring.
An hour might have passed before the jailer's heavy tread again sounded upon the pavement; he was whistling a merry tune, that rung strangely enough among those gloomy corridors and darkened cells.
When the prisoner heard the step pause before his door, he took from his bed the thick woolen blankets which lay upon it and, grasping them in his hand, crept quietly behind the door.
The key turned in the lock, the heavy door swung upon its hinges with a sound so mournful and ominous, that had the man who entered been at all imaginative, he might have taken it for a warning. But he passed on, interrupting his song to call out something in a cheerful voice, but the prisoner did not answer.
"He must be asleep," muttered the jailer. "Well, well, poor chap, he hain't much else to do!"
He moved toward the bed, saying:
"Here, wake up, lazybones, and eat your supper before it gets cold."