of inconsolable despair came over him. He could now
yield to it, no one was present to hear his misery and wretchedness. He
need not now suppress the sighs and groans that had almost choked him;
he could give the tears, welling to his eyes like burning fire, full
vent; he could cool his feverish brow upon the stone floor, in the agony
of his soul. As a man trembles at the thought of death, Trenck trembled
at the thought of life. He knew not how long he had sighed, and wept,
and groaned. For him there was no time, no hour, no night--it was all
merged into one fearful day. But still he experienced some hours of
pleasure and joy. These were the hours of sleep, the hours of dreams.
Happier than many a king, than many powerful rulers and rich nobles upon
their silken couches, was this prisoner upon his hard pallet. He could
sleep--his spirit, busy during the day in forming plans for his escape,
needed and found the rest of sleep; his body needed the refreshment and
received it.

Yes, he could sleep. Men were hard and cruel to him, but God had not
deserted him, for at night He sent an angel to his cell who consoled and
refreshed him. It was the angel of slumber--when night came, after all
his sorrow, his agony, his despair endured during the day, the consoling
angel came and took his seat by the wretched prisoner. This night he
kissed his eyes, he laid his soft wings on the prisoner's wounded heart,
he whispered glorious dreams of the future into his ear. A beautiful
smile, seldom seen when he was awake, now rested upon his lips.

Keep quiet, ye guards, without there--keep quiet, the prisoner sleeps;
the sleep of man is sacred, and more sacred than all else is the sleep
of the unfortunate. Do not disturb him--pass the door stealthily. Be
still, be still! the prisoner sleeps--reverence his rest.

This stillness was now broken by a loud cry.

"Trenck, Trenck!" cried a thundering voice--"Trenck, are you asleep?"

He woke from his pleasant dreams and rose in terror from his bed. He
thought he had heard the trumpets of the judgment-day, and listened
eagerly for the renewing of the sound.

And again the cry resounded through his cell. "Trenck, are you there?"

With a wild fear he raised his hand to his burning brow.

"Am I mad?" murmured he; "I hear a voice in my brain calling me; a
voice--"

The bolts were pushed back, and Commandant Von Bruckhausen, accompanied
by a soldier, with a burning torch, appeared on the thresho