“You waste time with him, good father,” cried the sheriff. “Not so,” rejoined the priest. “Perchance, even now, Heaven may soften his heart.” “I pray you let me be,” said Rogers, taking a Prayer-book from his breast, and turning the leaves. “Thou shalt not read that book,” cried the sheriff, snatching it from him. “I will cast it into the fire with thee. Make ready, I say.” On this Rogers went up to the stake, and pressing his lips fervently to it, exclaimed, “Welcome the cross of Christ! Welcome eternal life!” On turning round, he would have addressed a few more words to the people, but the sheriff, perceiving his design, authoritatively forbade him. Then one of the men standing near the stake came up and besought his forgiveness. “Forgiveness for what?” rejoined Rogers. “Thou hast done me no injury that I know of.” “I am one of those appointed to burn you,” replied the man. “Nay, then, I freely forgive thee, good fellow,” replied Rogers. “And I will give thee thanks also, if thou wilt heap plenty of wood about me.” With that he took off his gown and doublet, and bestowed them upon the man. Then, kneeling down by the stake, he passed a few moments in deep and earnest prayer; after which he arose, and said, in a firm voice, “I am ready.” Thereupon, a smith and his man, who were in attendance with the sheriffs, stepped forward, and putting the chain around him, fastened it at the back of the stake. An iron hoop was likewise passed around his body, and nailed to the post. Then the men with the prongs began to pile the faggots around him, mingling them with bundles of reeds. “Are your fagots dry?” he inquired, as they were thus engaged. “Ay, marry are they,” replied the man to whom he had given his cloak and doublet. “You shall not be long a-burning, I’ll warrant you.” When sufficient fagots had been heaped around him, Sheriff Woodrooffe called for torches, which were brought, but ere they could be applied, the priest again interposed. “Hold yet a moment,” he exclaimed. Then advancing towards the martyr, who, chained to the stake and half covered by the fagots, regarded him steadily, he displayed a warrant to him, and said, “Here is the Queen’s pardon. Recant, I conjure thee, and thou shalt be spared.” “Away with thee, tempter!” exclaimed Rogers. “I take you all to witness,” he added, with a loud voice, “that I die in the Protestant faith.” “Kindle the pile instantly!” vociferated the sheriff. Three blazing torches were then applied to the bundles of reeds, and the next moment the flames leaped up and enveloped the martyr. Many of the beholders shouted and exulted at the terrific spectacle, but groans and lamentations burst from others. Then the flame fell for a moment, and the serene countenance of the martyr could be descried, his lips moving in prayer. But not a groan or a cry escaped him. The fagots now began to crackle and blaze. The flames mounted higher and higher, and again wrapt the martyr from view.