Radburn was reached the next day, and here the Christians were consigned to dismal dungeons to await the Governor’s orders. Agatha and Anna were shut into a damp cell, where a little water and some dry bread were all the food allotted to them, and Amphibalus was separated from the rest of the poor converts, and, heavily fettered, was literally thrown into a dungeon under the rude stone dwelling which served for a prison, and where neither light nor air could penetrate. He was brought out the next day, and a hasty tribunal was formed. He stood before his accusers with a calm and unmoved countenance. He was asked if he would save his life, and he answered-- “I would save it were it my Lord’s will, but if He calls me to the crown of martyrdom, as He called my friend, who laid down his life for me, I will humbly receive it.” He was roughly struck upon the mouth, and then asked if he would at once resort to the temple at Verulam, and, prostrating himself there, renounce his evil practices. “Nay,” he said, “I know of no evil practices to renounce, but I will never deny my Lord.” “Have you nought else to say?” “Nay, save that I would pray you to shield two weak women of my company from the sight of my sufferings.” This request, as might be expected, had the opposite effect to what Amphibalus desired. Agatha and Anna were dragged out to the open space, where a crowd scarcely less numerous than that which had assembled to witness the death of Alban were pressing round to see Amphibalus suffer. It may truly be said that they stoned Amphibalus calling upon God, and commending his spirit to Him for Whose sake he lay down his life. Death by stoning seemed to make a more profound impression on the spectators than death by the sword, and the savage executioners who were hired to fling the stones upon the martyr showed no pity. Rather, they delighted to prolong his sufferings, and they were intense. Scarcely less intense were those of the two women who were compelled to see the cruel deed accomplished. A deep swoon mercifully spared Anna the prolonged torture which Agatha had to undergo, nor could she at the first raise her voice, as her friend did, to cheer and encourage the martyr. There was one present who watched Anna with something more than common interest. Claudius remembered the words of little Hyacintha, and his promise to save her, if it were possible. Now, the boy knew well enough that to help a Christian to escape was scarcely a less heinous offence than to profess the faith himself. But Hyacintha’s pleading eyes, her gentle voice, her beautiful little hands raised in appeal, rose before him, and he was thinking over every possible way whereby he could save Anna. The two women were remanded to their cell to await the Governor’s pleasure, and Claudius obtained permission of Valens after he had conducted them thither to remain as their guard.