to the hedge, and perceiving my
situation, were at the brink of the pit watching for my coming out. All
resistance was useless. I was numbed with cold and exhausted by my
struggles, and when I gained the bank I surrendered at discretion.

PART THREE, CHAPTER FOUR.

WORSE AND WORSE--IF OUT OF GAOL, IT WILL BE TO GO OUT OF THE WORLD--I AM
RESOLVED TO TAKE MY SECRET WITH ME.

The handcuffs were now put on without resistance on my part, and I was
led away to Hounslow by the two constables, while the others returned to
secure the wounded man. On my arrival I was thrust into the clink, or
lockup house, as the magistrates would not meet that evening, and there
I was left to my reflections. Previously, however, to this, I was
searched, and my money, amounting, as I before stated, to upwards of
twenty pounds, taken from me by the constables; and what I had quite
forgotten, a diamond solitaire ring, which I had intended to have left
with my other bijouterie for Timothy, but in my hurry, when I left
London, I had allowed to remain upon my finger. The gaol was a square
building, with two unglazed windows secured with thick iron bars, and
the rain having beat in, it was more like a pound for cattle, for it was
not even paved, and the ground was three or four inches deep in mud.
There was no seat in it, and there I was the whole of the night walking
up and down shivering in my wet clothes, in a state of mind almost
bordering upon insanity. Reflect upon what was likely to happen, I
could not. I only ran over the past. I remembered what I had been, and
felt cruelly the situation I then was in. Had I deserved it? I thought
not. "Oh! father--father!" exclaimed I, bitterly, "see to what your son
is brought--handcuffed as a felon! God have mercy on my brain, for I
feel that it is wandering. Father, father--alas, I have none!--had you
left me at the asylum, without any clue, or hopes of a clue, to my
hereafter being reclaimed, it would have been a kindness; I should then
have been happy and contented in some obscure situation; but you raised
hopes only to prostrate them--and imaginings which have led to my
destruction. Sacred is the duty of a parent, and heavy must be the
account of those who desert their children, and are required by Heaven
to render up an account of the important trust. Couldst thou, oh,
father, but now behold thy son! God Almighty!--but I will not curse
you, father! No, no--" and I burst into tears