Three years had passed. To the loss of their child, another sorrow was added. Soon after Lena's death, the wife of Justus Jonas died. She was a good and noble woman, Katharine's dearest friend; and it was to her, Luther hoped, his wife might after his death, look for comfort and support. Once more, Luther's house was turned into a house of mourning. But in time the wounds healed,--and sharp grief gave place to loving, tender memories. The simple, peaceful life at Zulsdorf had done much to restore the stricken hearts. Small and modest as was their home, yet to the great man it was a paradise, and to Katharine's contented spirit, a kingdom. Her taste for improvements involved her in many a struggle with the Elector's dishonest officials, who sought to draw their own profit from every delivery of building material. Yet these annoyances were as nothing, compared with the delights of country life. Again, we find her busy in her domain, assisting Gretchen in wreathing the entrance with evergreens, and in strewing fresh sand upon the paths. It was a glorious morning in July. Sweet summer scents rose from the fields, the clear air rang with the song of birds and the chirping of insects, and all created things seemed full of the joy of life. "They must soon be coming," said Katharine, her eyes scanning the distant road. But hours passed; and it was already afternoon, when Katharine, from the garden, heard the sound of approaching wheels. She hastened to the court,--a wagon rolled in at the gate, and Luther and his son John alighted. "Praised be God, we are here," exclaimed Luther, after the first greeting was over. "I feel like a mariner, who has reached a safe harbor, after the dangers and tempests of the sea. I thank the dear heavenly Father, that He has prepared this refuge for me. His mercy is with me evermore." He seemed tired, and his face was pale and worn. After he had refreshed himself with a cup of milk and a piece of bread, he sat down beside his wife, and turning to John and Margaret, said: "Go away for a little while, children; I need rest." He lay down upon a couch, and taking his wife's hand, looked long and earnestly into her face. "My dear wife," he said at last, "I have much to tell you, that will no doubt astonish you. I cannot continue in Wittenberg, and I have bidden farewell to the city, where I labored for seven and thirty years." "Doctor," cried Katharine, in amazement.