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. “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, I implore you to renounce your errors.”