be with thee, good father,' the son answered, 'and be of good comfort!'
When he was come to the stake, he took one of the faggots, knelt upon it, and prayed for a few moments. The sheriff read the pardon with the conditions. 'I shall not recant,' he said, and walked to the post, to which he was chained.
'Pray for me, good people, while you see me alive,' he said to the crowd.
'Pray for thee!' said the magistrate who had committed him, 'I will no more pray for thee than I will pray for a dog.'
'Son of God,' Hunter exclaimed, 'shine on me!' The sun broke out from behind a cloud and blazed in glory on his face.
The faggots were set on fire.
'Look,' shrieked a priest, 'how thou burnest here, so shalt thou burn in hell!'
The martyr had a Prayer-book in his hands, which he cast through the flames to his brother.
'William,' said the brother, 'think on the holy passion of Christ, and be not afraid of death.'
'I am not afraid,' were his last words. 'Lord, Lord, Lord, receive my spirit!'
Ten days later another victim was sacrificed at Carmarthen, whose fate was peculiarly unprovoked and cruel.
Robert Ferrars, who twenty-seven years before carried a faggot with Anthony Dalaber in High-street at Oxford, had been appointed by Somerset Bishop of
