He waved his arms to feel if he were indeed at liberty.

He moved in free air, but the darkness seemed to suffocate him; and springing up, he groped his way to the window, and flung it open.

Feverish and restless, the very excitement of the night seemed to urge him forth, thus to disperse the oppressive weight within.

A flash of lightning playing on the polished sheath of his sword, he secured it to his side, and threw his mantle over his shoulders.

As he did so his hand came in contact with the upper part of the sheath, from which the hilt should have projected; but, to his astonishment and alarm, no hilt was there--the sheath was empty.
In vain he racked his memory to ascertain whether he had left his sword in its scabbard, or had laid the naked blade, as was his custom, by him while he slept.