He waited for a few minutes and then, drawing upon the rope and
finding that it was held from below, he spat upon his hands and
began slowly climbing up to the window above. Winding his arm
around the iron bars of the grating that guarded it, he thrust
his hand into the pouch that hung by his side, and drawing forth
a file, fell to work cutting through all that now lay between
Otto and liberty.

It was slow, slow work, and it seemed to Otto as though Hans
would never finish his task, as lying upon his hard couch he
watched that figure, black against the sky, bending over its
work. Now and then the file screeched against the hard iron, and
then Hans would cease for a moment, but only to begin again as
industriously as ever. Three or four times he tried the effects
of his work, but still the iron held. At last he set his
shoulder against it, and as Otto looked he saw the iron bend.
Suddenly there was a sharp crack, and a piece of the grating
went flying out into the night.

Hans tied the rope securely about the stump of the stout iron
bar that yet remained, and then slid down again into the room
below.

"My little lord," said he, "dost thou think that if I carry
thee, thou wilt be able and strong enough to cling to my neck?"

"Aye," said Otto, "methinks I will be able to do that."

"Then come," said Hans.