“Let these cruel men kill us also,” cried one of the younger children—a little girl. “We do not desire to live.”
“Pluck them away instantly, I say,” roared Woodrooffe. “Why do you hesitate? Do you sympathise with these heretics?”
“Gently Sirs, gently,” said Rogers. “See ye not she faints. Farewell, dear wife,” he continued, kissing her marble cheek. “You can take her now. She will not struggle more. Be of good cheer, my children. We shall meet again in heaven. Once more, farewell.”
As his swooning wife and weeping children were taken away, he covered his face with his hands, and wept aloud, but, roused by the angry voice of the sheriff, he lifted up his head, and, brushing the tears from his eyes, marched with firm footsteps into the ring, in the midst of which was planted the stake. No sooner had he come there than a priest advanced towards him, and, holding up a crucifix, besought him to repent.
But Rogers pushed him aside, and, turning to the assemblage, called out with a loud voice,—
“Good people, having taught you nothing but God’s holy word, and such lessons as I have learnt from His blessed book, the Holy Bible, I am come hither to seal my faith with my blood.”
“Have done, thou false knave!” cried Woodrooffe, “or I will have thy lying tongue torn from thy throat. Make ready. Thou hast detained us long enough.”
“Nay, treat him not thus harshly,” interposed the priest. “Again[“Again], I implore you to renounce your errors.”
“You waste time with him, good father,” cried the sheriff.
“Not so,” rejoined the priest. “Perchance, even now, Heaven may soften his heart.”