The farewell greetings of the Church on earth breathed soft and sweet
in their loftiness, and Friedel, though lying motionless, and with
closed eyes, never failed in the murmured response, whether fully
conscious or not, while his brother only attended by fits and starts,
and was evidently often in too much pain to know what was passing.
Help was nearer than had been hoped. The summons despatched the
night before had been responded to by the vintners and mercers; their
train bands had set forth, and their captain, a cautious man, never
rode into the way of blows without his surgeon at hand. And so it
came to pass that, before the sun was low on that long and grievous
day, Doctor Johannes Butteman was led into the upper chamber, where
the mother looked up to him with a kind of hopeless gratitude on her
face, which was nearly as white as those of her sons. The doctor
soon saw that Friedel was past human aid; but, when he declared that
there was fair hope for the other youth, Friedel, whose torpor had
been dispelled by the examination, looked up with his beaming smile,
saying, "There, motherling.
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