In the deathlike stillness of the night he heard what sounded like a noise of scratching in the roof of his cell, as if someone were trying to bore through the ceiling.
All at once the sound ceased, and from above he heard a well-remembered voice: "Poor Ráby!" it murmured.
At the sound, a thrill of joy shook the prisoner, in spite of his fetters; it spoke to him of life and hope.
"Can you hear me?" asked the voice.
"Perfectly," answered Ráby.
"Trust in God, He will deliver you, He will not let you be lost. If to-morrow you hear a sound of knocking, give heed. Good-bye."
Then there was again stillness. But Ráby slept in his heavy fetters rocked by that hope, as peacefully as a child in its mother's arms.
When he awoke at daybreak, it seemed like a dream, till he was reminded of its reality by a light tapping on the ceiling of his cell.
And then, just over his head, there appeared a long hollow cane thrust down from a small aperture in the roof, and it came lower and lower till it reached his fettered hands.
"Have you got it?" asked the voice. "If so, open it carefully."