When this call was repeated the second time, Trenck felt a light trembling in his whole frame. The whisper of his name had called back his fleeting spirit. The godlike dream of release was at an end; Trenck lived again, a suffering, defenceless man. For the third time he heard his name called—for the third time a voice, as if from heaven, rang, “Trenck! Trenck!”
Trenck gathered all his little strength, and replied:
“Who calls me?”
“It is I,” said the faithful Gefhart; “have I not sworn to bring you help? I have crept over the wall only to say to you that I think of you—that you must not despair—that help is nigh, even at the door. An unknown friend has sent you a greeting by me; he has given me a roll of gold to be useful in your flight. Come near, I will throw it to you through the window.”
“It is too late, Gefhart, all is too late! I lie bathed in my blood; to-morrow they will find me dead!”
“But why die?” cried the fresh, strong voice of Gefhart; “why wish for death, now when escape is possible? Here there are no guards, and I will soon find a way to furnish you with tools. Try only to break your prison—for the rest I will remain responsible.”
“Alas, I tried to-night and I failed!” said Trenck. A few tears stole from his eyes and rolled slowly over his hollow cheeks.
“You will succeed better another time, Baron Trenck; whenever I am on guard here I will seek an opportunity to speak with you, and we will arrange all. Do not despair. I must go, the sun is rising, and I may be seen. Do not despair! God will help you—trust fully in me.” [Footnote: “Frederick von Trenck’ Important Memoire.”]
The voice had long since died away, but Trenck listened still for those tones, which seemed like the greeting of one of God’s angels; they illuminated his prison and gave strength to his soul. No, no, now he would not die! He felt his courage revive. He would defy fate, and oppose its stern decrees by the mighty power of his will.