The patience of the densely-packed crowd, eager for the exciting spectacle it had come to witness, was well-nigh exhausted, when the solemn tolling of the bell of the conventual church announced that, at last, the intended martyr was coming forth. Then all noise and tumult suddenly ceased, and deep silence fell upon the throng.
In the midst of this hush the doleful hymn chanted by the monks could be distinctly heard. Every eye was then directed towards the gateway. Presently the priests emerged, carrying the crucifixes and banners, and mounting the scaffold, they ranged themselves in front of it. They were followed by the recusants with lighted torches, who were placed at the back of the scaffold, while the middle seats were allotted to the Protestant divines.
All these proceedings were watched with deep interest by the spectators. Many an eye was then cast towards the royal gallery, but it was still vacant.
As yet nothing had been seen of the doomed man, but now the sheriffs rode forth from the gateway, and in another moment Rogers came after them, still maintaining his firmness of deportment. He was preceded by half-a-dozen halberdiers, and followed by two officers, with drawn swords in their hands.
At this moment Philip came forth, and sat down in the fauteuil prepared for him in the centre of the gallery. Close behind him stood Father Alfonso, while on his right were Gardiner and Bonner, and other prelates, and on his left the principal members of the council.
As Philip appeared, a half-suppressed murmur arose among the spectators, and had not their attention been diverted by what was going on below, stronger manifestations of dislike might have been made. Philip frowned as these murmurs greeted him, but made no remark.
Meanwhile, Rogers continued to march resolutely towards the place of execution—some of the spectators pitying and comforting him, others flouting and reviling him. His firmness, however, was exposed to a sore trial at the last. His unhappy and half-distracted wife having followed him with her children to Smithfield, had managed to force her way close up to the ring of halberdiers encircling the stake; and as he came up, aided by some charitable persons near her, who drew aside to let her pass, she burst forth, and ere she could be prevented, flung herself into his arms, and was strained to his breast, while his children clung to his knees.
But this agonising scene, which moved most of those who beheld it, whatever their religious opinions might be, was of brief duration. Seeing what had occurred, Sheriff Woodrooffe turned fiercely round, and roared out, “What! here again, thou pestilent woman! Pluck her from him, and take her and her children from the ground.”
“Go, dear wife and children,” cried Rogers. “We shall meet again in a better world, where none will trouble us. Farewell for a little while—only a little while! My blessing be upon you!”
“I will not leave you. I will die with you,” shrieked his unhappy wife.