"Good Heavens, Mistress Luther, is it you?" exclaimed a voice from a corner of the dimly-lighted room, as they entered. "Master Philip," cried Katharine and the children, equally surprised. It was Philip Melanchthon, her husband's dearest friend, whom a similar accident,--his wagon having been overturned in a ditch--had driven to seek shelter in the village. The kind peasants, to whom these exclamations betrayed the identity of their guests, could not sufficiently express their reverent affection. The contents of the larder were produced for their refreshment. The beds of the family, in spite of all their protestations, were given up to the strangers, and on the following morning, before sunrise, the peasant was at the door, with his own cart, prepared to carry them to their journey's end. "The Lord's chancery," said Melanchthon, as they entered Magdeburg, through the gloomy gate of the fortress. "Your dear husband often gave the city that name. Who would then have thought, that we should one day come hither, to seek safety from persecution. But I thank God, that in these troublous times, he has provided for us a place of refuge." Katharine found in Magdeburg a number of her friends and acquaintances from Wittenberg, among others the professor of theology, George Major, a dear friend of her departed husband. It was to him she now chiefly looked for protection, as Melanchthon having upon his hands the care of many other fugitives, was very much engaged. Here too, the people, for Luther's sake, received his wife and children with open arms. A Senator, in whose house they lodged, made every effort to keep his guests with him permanently. With touching kindness, he and his wife urged Katharine to regard their roomy house as the home of herself and her children; and, not knowing whether she would ever be able to return to Wittenberg, she finally yielded to their pleading. But she had scarcely consented, when the dreadful tidings were brought them, that the Emperor threatened to put the city under the ban of the Empire, for harboring the Wittenberg fugitives; and the hearts, which had bounded with renewed hopefulness, sank back again into deeper gloom. Katharine passed the night in sleepless anxiety, struggling for light. Whither should she go? Was there not, in God's wide world, a spot where the widow of the German Reformer might lay her head? Early in the morning, she sought Professor Major, whom she found in deep dejection. "My dear Professor," said Katharine, offering her hand, "it is clear, that we cannot continue in Magdeburg. A plan came to me during the night, and I would ask your assistance in carrying it out." "Alas, yes," Major interrupted; "we must leave this hospitable place, and our kind friends."