The curses which Mac Fane continually coupled with my name, and the rancour, the thirst of blood which preyed upon him, were incredible. He a hundred times imprecated eternal damnation to his soul if there were the least danger. The fellows the keeper had with him were of his own providing: they knew he could hang them both: they durst not impeach. [Squeak, I recollect, was the word he used.] To take me off was the safest way. Clifton would in reality be an accessary before the fact, and therefore obliged to silence. Beside—'He would do him! He would do him!'—This he confirmed by a new string of oaths.
The keeper however continued averse to the project, said the fellows would hang their own father if he could not bribe them, that there was nothing to be got by putting me out of the way, and that he would not venture his neck unless he saw good cause.
While they were arguing the point, a loud and authoritative rap was heard at the keeper's door, accompanied by the voice of Mr. Clifton, demanding admission. He entered, and the whole story of my escape was related, with that colouring which their own fears inspired.
Mac Fane darkly hinted the thoughts he had been communicating to the keeper; but, meeting repulse from Mr. Clifton whenever ideas of cruelty were started, he thought proper to use more reserve.
The keeper concluded his account by affirming it would be necessary to continue me in the strait waistcoat, and not to let me walk in the garden any more. Mr. Clifton assented to the latter, but positively ordered my arms to be released. There was no need he said to punish me in this manner, and it should not be. At the same time he gave the keeper a twenty pound note, and repeated his orders to treat me properly, but to take care not to suffer me to escape.
Misguided man! How does your heart pant after virtue! How grieve at the slavery in which it is held! What will its agony be, when the full measure of error is come!
Yet this to me was the lucid moment of hope, for it suggested a train of conclusions which seem like heavenly certainties—Mr. Clifton had made his attempts on Anna St. Ives, and they have been repelled! Even still, and it is several days since, his efforts continue to be ineffectual!—It must be so!—The purposes of vice are frustrated by the pure energies of virtue: for, had they succeeded, I should be released. Heart-cheering thought! Pleasure inexpressible! Yes, Anna St. Ives is safe! Truth is omnipotent; and out of my ashes another, and probably a more strenuous and determined assertor of it may arise! Clifton at last may see how very foul is folly, and turn to wisdom! Would he might be spared the guilt of purchasing conviction at the price of blood!
Three days passed away, after my escape, without any remarkable occurrence. The sanguinary malignity of Mac Fane was more than counterbalanced, by the reasonings of probability and hope in favour of Anna St. Ives.
During my confinement, I had slept but little. Wearied however at length, by the repetition of ideas that were unavailing, I was slumbering more soundly than usual on the night after the ninth day; and was dreaming that my doors were unbolted, the chains rattling, and men entering to murder me; from which I was waked by starting in my dream to run and resist them. It was the real clanking of the bolts and locks of the house doors that inspired this dream; they opened to give some one admission. I know not what was the hour, but it must be very late, and it was completely dark. I soon distinguished Mac Fane's voice. I jumped up, hastily dressed myself in part, and presently heard the keeper's door open—The ray of light appeared on the wall—I crept toward the closet.
The first word Mac Fane uttered was—'I told you I should do him!—I told you I should do him!'