"Atwell reported him; he was seized, and placed in the stocks. Then he was taken before Bishop Bonner, who, finding him resolute, ordered him again to the stocks; and there he lay two long days and nights, without any food except a crust of brown bread and a little water. Then, in hopes of subduing his spirit, Bonner sent him to one of the London prisons, with strict orders to the jailer to put as many iron chains upon him as he could possibly bear; and here he remained for three- quarters of a year. At last the bishop sent for him and said, `If you recant, I will give you forty pounds and set you up in business.' That was a large sum in those days. But William rejected the offer. `I will make you steward of my own house,' added Bonner. `But, my lord,' replied the young man, `if you cannot persuade my conscience by Scripture, I cannot find in my heart to turn from God for the love of the world.' `Then away with him to the fire!' "He was to suffer near his native town. There was no prison in the place, so William Hunter was confined in an inn, and guarded by constables. His mother rushed to see him, and his words to her were, `For my little pain which I shall suffer Christ hath procured for me a crown of joy; are you not glad of that, mother?' On the morning when he was to die, as he was being led from the inn, his father sprang forward in an agony of grief, and threw his arms round him, saying, `God be with thee, son William.' His son looked calmly at him and said, `God be with you, father. Be of good comfort; I trust we shall soon meet again where we shall rejoice together.' When he had been secured to the stake, a pardon was offered him if he would recant. `No,' he said, `I will not recant, God willing.' When the fire was lighted, and the flames began to rise, he threw a book of Psalms, which he still held in his hands, into the hands of his brother, who had followed him to the place of death. Then his brother called to him and said, `William, think on the sufferings of Christ, and be not afraid.'--`I am not afraid,' cried the young martyr. `Lord, Lord, receive my spirit.' These were his last words. The dry fagots burned briskly, and in a few minutes his sufferings were at an end for ever. "Here, surely, dear Walter, was moral courage of the highest order. William Hunter was very young; life was sweet; he had loving parents. All the neighbours loved him for his gentle piety. A few words spoken would have saved him from imprisonment, hunger, bitter suffering, and a cruel death; but he would not by a single act or a single word save himself, when by so doing he would be acting against his conscience, much as he loved his home, his parents, and his people."