Paul started and looked eagerly out.  The inn, as has before been said, stood on the banks of the great river Thames.  Indeed, it was built so close to the waterside that the walls were washed by the lapping waves on the backside of the house, and the windows looked sheer down into the turbid, sullen stream.  No watch could be kept on this side, nor did it seem to be needful; for the old inn was a lofty building of its kind, and the black water lay some sixty feet below the small window of the room in which Paul and his companion lodged.  No man in his senses, it seemed, would hazard such a leap, and none but an expert swimmer would care or dare to trust himself to that swiftly-flowing flood, which might so easily sweep him to his doom.  And on a freezing December night the idea of escape in such a fashion seemed altogether madness itself.

Even Paul, menaced by a danger that might be worse than death, drew in his head with something of a shudder; but Edward had dived into a little press that stood in the room, and brought out a coil of stout, strong rope.  Paul gave a cry of surprise and pleasure.

“Some instinct warned me it might be wanted.  See here, Paul.  We can tie one end to this heavy bedstead, knotting it also around the bolt of the door, and we can glide down like two veritable shadows, and drop silently into the river:  Then we must swim to one of those small wherries which lie at anchor beside the sleeping barges.  I know exactly what course to steer for that; and once aboard, we cut her loose, and row for dear life down with the tide, till we can find some deserted spot where we can land, and thence we make our way back to the coast through the friendly forest, as we planned.”

“On foot?”

“Ay, we must leave our good steeds behind; it would be madness to seek to take them.  We are young and strong, and this frost makes walking easy.  We shall speed so well that we may chance to reach the shelter of the Priory ere night falls on us again, and then the worst of our troubles will be over.  Say, Paul, will you come with me?  Will you follow me?”

“To the death, my prince,” answered Paul with enthusiasm; yet even as he spoke a sort of shiver came over him, as though he had pronounced his own doom.  But he shook it off, and fell to upon the simple preparations to be made.

These were very simple, and consisted of rolling up into a compact bundle their outer dress and a change of under tunic, which they fastened, together with their food wallet and arms, upon their heads, in the hope that they might keep them from the water.  They slung their boots about their necks, and then, with as little clothing as possible upon them, commenced their stealthy descent down the rope, which had been firmly attached as suggested by the prince.  Edward went first, whilst Paul remained in the room to guard against surprise, and to hold the end if it slipped or gave.  But no such casualty befell; and the moment he heard the slight splash which told that the prince had reached the water, he swung himself lightly down the rope, and fell with a soft splash beside him.