Luther leaned over and stroked the little hand: "Dear wife, the Apostle's word applies not only to a feeble child,—we should possess all our children, as though we possessed them not. The Lord has but lent them to us, and claims them again, when it pleases Him."
A look of deep sorrow clouded Katharine's face: "Doubtless you are right, dearest Doctor; yet it is better to see them come than go, and if we were forced to yield up one of them, I believe my heart would break. Ah my little Elizabeth, my darling child—" She pressed her lips to her pale, little face, and hot tears gushed from her eyes. The Doctor felt his own growing moist, and was glad to see his friends, Melanchthon, with Master Reichenbach and his wife, coming towards their house.
"We thought," cried Mistress Elsa, "that we must seek you here, as we failed to find you at home. How lovely is this Spring day."
Frau Elsa sat down beside Katharine, and the men with Dr. Martin.
"You have a fine scent, my friends," he began, "that has betrayed to you, what his grace the Elector, has sent me. I, for my part, can boast of a true prophetic instinct, which told me that some of my friends would seek me out to-day. Therefore I have caused the gift to be brought out here." He pointed to a corner, where lay a small cask: beside it stood a large earthen jug. "It is said to be choice Spanish wine, for Dr. Martin's refreshment."
"He is a kindly gentleman, our Elector," returned Reichenbach. "But you, dear Doctor, must follow his advice, and yourself drink the wine, that was sent for your refreshment."
Luther was already filling the jug from the cask. "What would you have, dear Reichenbach? Would the wine refresh me, if I drank it alone? Just as divided joy is double joy, so, to me, divided wine is double wine."
He brought the jug to the syndic. When the latter still refused, Melanchthon said, with a significant glance: "Take it, Reichenbach; the Doctor is now forty-five years old. We cannot change his nature in these matters."
The wine was passed around, and in the intercourse with his beloved friends, Luther's inborn happy humor burst forth with irresistible charm, as though he had never in his life been sad or heavy-hearted. Towards evening other citizens of Wittenberg came out to enjoy the balmy air. Luther made them all welcome. They talked together of many things,—of the affairs of the city of Wittenberg, and of those of the kingdom of God, until it grew late, and Wolfgang came limping out from town, with warm wraps for Mistress Luther and the children, and well-meant advice to the Doctor, not to linger in the night-air. Luther readily yielded, and all returned to town together.
The roses in Luther's garden were blooming gloriously, delighting not only the Doctor, but all those whom he invited into his garden, to view the wonderful works of God, and those into whose houses he sent generous nosegays of the fragrant flowers. But greater was his joy, when he saw the roses slowly appearing in little Elizabeth's cheeks. The physician, Augustin Schurf, smiled sadly when he saw the father's fond delusion,—he knew that under the roses death was at work. Soon the little face grew pale again, and with hearts doubly saddened by disappointed hope, the parents stood beside their dying child, and tasted the bitterness of death. They prayed for its life, but God said: "Give me the child."