“Who are you?” he asked; “are you one of Fra Angelico’s seraphs winged down from heaven?” “I am a simple German maiden to whom God has been exceeding kind.” How their dialogue might have ended I know not, for Adolf plucked me by the sleeve. “Countly Grace, a wagon is coming down the road from Eisenach.” We left Ilsa still kneeling by our victim. Our men ranged themselves behind the great beeches along the way. Moritz and I exchanged assuring glances. Long since on the ride we had resolved what disposition to make of Dr. Luther if once Forli’s band were happily settled. In the midst of our scene of tragedy, not ended yet, must come the brighter dash of comedy. The wagon, the familiar vehicle I had followed all the miles from Wittenberg, was nearing rapidly, only the Imperial herald no longer rode before. As it approached I could see the occupants; the driver, the friar Johannes, honest Amsdorf, and, joy of joys, my dear master. Unsuspectingly it rattled onward. At a slight rising the stout horses fell to a walk. I gave a whistle. Instantly two of our varlets were at the heads of the team. I sprang from the covert with my sword flourished high. “Stand all of you. Submit quietly. We seek only Dr. Luther.” Adolf levelled an empty pistol at the driver’s breast. Gunter whipped out an oath worthy of a corsair. The unvalorous friar Johannes clapped his hands to his head and leaped down, bellowing mightily. Amsdorf, of nobler metal, was reaching for a knife, when my voice made him look on me twice, and despite my shaven face he knew me. Dr. Luther, who at the first onset had turned a little pale and clasped his hands, now flushed with a great light springing out of his eyes. In a low voice I spoke to them. “Dear friends, you know I love you and the Cause right well, therefore fear nothing. But Dr. Luther must now come with me instantly, and do you, Magister Amsdorf, swear to all the world that you know not whether friends or foemen took him, nor whither they vanished.” I seized Dr. Luther with some show of roughness and forced him out of the wagon. Johanne was already running up the Ruhla road, crying “help!” and “murder!” We let him flee. He would not reach a house, Humfried said, within a league. We thrust back Amsdorf into the vehicle, and Gunter, with more sly curses, bade the driver “lash his beasts as if the devil were after him, and never look around save as he wished to be chased by a bullet.” The frightened fellow obeyed instantly. The wagon was soon following the friar at full speed. Still, with mock roughness, we hustled Dr. Luther back into the covert of the beechwood, and then once face to face, with no part to play, I fell into his arms, nor do I shame to own to manly tears wherewith his also mingled. “O gracious Heaven!” he cried when he could pass to words. “Oh joy, oh joy! I was sure the black dogs of Rome had devoured you in Worms, and I should meet you only in the Golden City. And you are here. You are here.”