He would that his father were here now; and then, on second thoughts, he would not, for it came back to him that he was a prisoner in a far land, and that his sight-seeing was being done through the bars of a dungeon window.
The window was large enough to pass his body through if it were not for those bars.

He shook them and hung his weight upon them, but they were as thick as his thumb and firmly welded.

Then, getting some strong hold for his other foot, he supported himself by one hand while he picked with his knife at the setting of the iron.

It was cement, as smooth as glass and as hard as marble.

His knife turned when he tried to loosen it.