"If the governor does not come till I send for him," Rupert answered, "he will never come."
Even in this dungeon, where escape seemed hopeless, Rupert determined to do his best to keep life and strength together. Nothing but the death of the king seemed likely to bring relief, and that event might be many years distant. When it took place, his old friend would, he was sure, endeavour in every way to find out where he was confined, and to obtain his release. At any rate he determined to live as long as he could; and he kept up his spirits by singing scraps of old songs, and his strength by such gymnastic exercises as he could carry out without the aid of any movable article. At first he struck out his arms as if fighting, so many hundred of times; then he took to walking on his hands; and at last he loosened one of the stones which formed the top of the bed, and invented all sorts of exercises with it.
"What is the day and month?" he said one day to his gaoler.
"It is the 15th of October."
"It is very dark," Rupert said, "darker than usual."
"It is raining," the jailer said; "raining tremendously."
Late that night Rupert was awoke by the splashing of water. He leaped to his feet. The cell was already a foot deep in water.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, "it is one thing or the other now."
Rupert had been hoping for a flood; it might bring death, but he thought that it was possible that it might bring deliverance.
The top of the loophole was some two and a half feet from the vaulted roof; the top of the door was about on the same level, or some six inches lower. The roof arched some three feet above the point whence it sprang.