The water in the fosse sank and sank, until he could no longer see it; but he could see the sun glistening on the wet grass of the bank, and he was satisfied.  At last he was conscious of a strain on his arm, and withdrawing his gaze from without, he saw that the water had fallen six inches.

It now sank rapidly; and in an hour he could stand with his head above it.  Then he was able to sit down on his bed; but when the water sank to a depth of two feet, he again lay on his back and floated.  He knew that a thick deposit of mud would be left, and that it was essential for his plan that he should drift to the exit hole of the water, and there be found, with the mud and slime undisturbed by footsteps or movement.  Another ten minutes, and he lay on his back on the ground in a corner of the dungeon to which the water had floated him, having taken care towards the end to sink his head so that his hair floated partly over it, and as the water drained off remained so.  He guessed it to be about midday, and he expected to be left undisturbed until night.

After a time he slept, and when he awoke it was dark, and soon after he heard steps coming down the stairs.  Now was the moment of trial.  Presently the door opened and four of the gaolers came in.  They bore between them a stretcher.

“This is the fifth,” one said, and he recognized the voice of his own attendant.  “It is a pity, he was a fine fellow.  Well, there’s one more, and then the job’s done.”

He bent over Rupert, who ceased breathing.

“He’s the only one with his eyes closed,” he said.  “I expect there’s someone would break her heart if she knew he was lying here.  Well, lift him up, mates.”

The two months’ imprisonment in the dungeon had done one good service for Rupert.  The absence of light had blanched his face, and even had he been dead he could hardly have looked more white than he did.  The long hours in the water had made his hands deadly cold, and the hair matted on his face added to the deathlike aspect.

“Put the stretcher on the ground, and roll him over on to it,” one of the men said.  “I don’t mind a dead man, but these are so clammy and slimy that they are horrible to touch.  There, stand between him and the wall, put a foot under him, roll him over.  There, nothing could be better!  Now then, off we go with him.  The weight’s more than twice as much as the others.”

Rupert lay with his face down on the stretcher, and felt himself carried upstairs, then along several long passages, then through a door, and felt the fresh evening air.  Now by the sound he knew that he was being carried over the bridge across the moat to the burying ground.  Then the stretcher was laid down.

“Now then, roll him over into the hole,” one said, “and let us go back for the last.  Peste!  I am sick of this job, and shall need a bottle of eau de vie to put me straight again.”

One side of the stretcher was lifted, and Rupert was rolled over.  The fall was not deep, some three or four feet only, and he fell on a soft mass, whose nature he could well guess at.  A minute later he heard the retreating footsteps of his gaolers, and leaping from the grave, stood a free man by its side.