He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land.
At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread.
Once more breaking through the hedge he took to the fields.

He was now almost driven to despair.

Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice.

And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:--how was he to get rid of them?
Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on.

Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill.