I had not run a hundred yards further before I saw another man at a distance, and the hue and cry behind was as hot as ever. The hedge in this place was lower, and I jumped over it into the field on my right. There was a ditch on the other side, of which I had no intimation; and my feet alighting on the edge of it, I once more fell.
My pursuers profited by a gate, which I had passed. It was the field of a gardener, and a man was at work close by. He came and helped me up; but not soon enough: the keeper arrived, and presently after his man and Mac Fane.
I addressed myself to the gardener, endeavoured to tell him who I was, and said I would give him a hundred pounds, if he would aid me to escape: but my efforts were soon put an end to by the keeper, who threw me down, a second time violently thrust his thumb into my throat, and by gagging me prevented further speech.
Mac Fane however thought proper to give the man half a crown, and they all assured him I was a madman; which story was confirmed by the man who supposed himself bitten, and who had joined in the pursuit.
The extreme malevolence of Mac Fane again displayed itself: but his treatment is unworthy notice, except as it relates to what is to come.
I was hurried back to my prison, left with the strait waistcoat on that whole day and night, and was fed by the boy; who shewed many silent tokens of commiseration, though once more watched by the keeper and his two attendants, with the three chains up at the door. All conversations between me and the boy were for several days ended, by the continued overlooking of the keeper and his men.
After the keeper and Mac Fane had retired, I went into the back room, and was standing with my face toward the window, which is beside the closet. The behaviour of Mac Fane had been so extraordinary as already to lead me to suspect he had a wish to take away my life.
As I was standing here, I heard the keeper's bed-room door open and shut again, and soon after the voices of him and Mac Fane in conversation. I listened very attentively to a dialogue, the substance of which was to me much more alarming than unexpected. It was a consultation, on the part of Mac Fane, on the policy and means of murdering me.
The keeper opposed him, several times mentioned Mr. Clifton as an unconquerable objection, and urged the danger of being detected; for he did not seem to revolt at the fact.
Mac Fane answered he would silence Clifton; of whom his favourite phrase was that 'He should soon do him!'—which he repeated very often, with a variety of uncommon oaths. He even said that, were I fairly out of the way, he could make Edward St. Ives pay him the three thousand guineas.