Sighard lifted its hangings and peered under and behind them in a sort of frantic hope; for though there was no sound, and no answer to his whispering of the well-loved name of his master, it seemed unbelievable that from this little chamber a man should have gone utterly and without a sound during these few minutes.

Yet so it was.
I set my hands on the high sill of the window and drew my face to its level.

It was too narrow for a man to get through, and there was nothing to be seen outside but the white moonlight, and the mist which rose from the Lugg and curled over the rampart, white and ghostly round the sentry, who leaned on his spear and stared at the twinkling hill fires.
"It is wizardry," said Sighard, groaning, while cold drops broke out on his forehead.

"He has been spirited away." "I saw him on the rampart," answered Erling; "but it was his ghost that I saw.

I knew it, and came and told my master here." Now there came a silence in which we looked at one another.