The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
"But how knew you," said Johanna, as she clasped her hands, and the
pallid expression of her countenance betrayed the deep interest she took
in the narration, "how knew you that the ship was the Star? might it not
have been some other ill-fated vessel that met with so dreadful a fate?"
"I will tell you: although we had seen the ship go down, we kept on our
course, straining every effort to reach the spot, with the hope of
picking up some of the crew, who surely had made an effort by the boats
to leave the burning vessel. The captain of the Indiaman kept his glass
at his eye, and presently he said to me,--'There is a floating piece of
wreck, and something clinging to it; I know not if there be a man, but
what I can perceive seems to me to be the head of a dog.' I looked
through the glass myself, and saw the same object; but as we neared it,
we found it was a large piece of the wreck, with a dog and a man
supported by it, who were clinging with all the energy of desperation.
In ten minutes more we had them on board the vessel--the man was the
Lieutenant Thornhill I have before mentioned, and the dog belonged to
him. He related to us that the ship, we had seen burning was the Star;
and that it had never reached its destination, and that he believed all
had perished but himself and the dog; for, although one of the boats had
been launched, so desperate a rush was made into it by the crew that it
had swamped, and all perished. Such was his own state of exhaustion,
that, after he had made this short statement, it was some days before he
left his hammock; but when he did, and began to mingle with us, we found
an intelligent, cheerful companion--such a one, indeed, as we were glad
to have on board, and in confidence he related to the captain and myself
the object of the voyage of the Star, and the previous particulars with
which I have made you acquainted. And then, during a night-watch, when
the soft and beautiful moonlight was more than usually inviting, and he
and I were on the deck, enjoying the coolness of the night, after the
intense heat of the day in the tropics, he said to me,--'I have a very
sad mission to perform when I get to London. On board our vessel was a
young man named Mark Ingestrie; and some short time before the vessel in
which we were went down, he begged of me to call upon a young lady named
Johanna Oakley, the daughter of a spectacle-maker in London, providing I
should be saved and he perish; and of the latter event, he felt so
strong a presentiment that he gave me a string of pearls, which I was to
present to her in his name; but where he got them I have not the least
idea, for they are of immense value.' Mr. Thornhill showed me the
pearls, which were of different sizes, roughly strung together, but of
great value; and when we reached the river Thames, which was only three
days since, he left us with his dog, carrying his string of pearls with
him, to find out where you reside."
"Alas! he never came."
"No; from all the inquiries we can make, and all the information we can
learn, it seems he disappeared somewhere about Fleet-street."
"Disappeared!"
"Yes; we can trace him to the Temple-stairs, and from thence to the
barber' shop, kept by a man named Sweeny Todd; but beyond there no
information of him can be obtained."
"Sweeny Todd!"
"Yes; and what makes the affair more extraordinary, is, that neither
force nor persuasion will induce Thornhill's dog to leave the place."
"I saw it--I saw the creature, and it looked imploringly, although
kindly, in my face; but little did I think, when I paused a moment to
look upon that melancholy but faithful animal, that it held a part in my
destiny. Oh! Mark Ingestrie, Mark Ingestrie, dare I hope that you live
when all else have perished?"
"I have told you all that I can tell you, and, according as your own
judgment may dictate to you, you can encourage hope, or extinguish it
for ever. I have kept back nothing from you which can make the affair
worse or better--I have added nothing; but you have it simply as it was
told to me."
"He is lost--he is lost."
"I am one, lady, who always thinks certainty of any sort preferable to
suspense; and although, while there is no positive news of death, the
continuance of life ought fairly to be assumed, yet you must perceive,
from a review of all the circumstances, upon how very slender a
foundation all our hopes must rest."
"I have no hope--I have no hope--he is lost to me for ever! It were
madness to think he lived. Oh, Mark, Mark! and is this the end of all
our fond affection? did I indeed look my last upon that face, when on
this spot we parted?"
"The uncertainty," said Colonel Jeffery, wishing to withdraw as much as
possible from a consideration of her own sorrows, "the uncertainty, too,
that prevails with regard to the fate of poor Mr. Thornhill, is a sad
thing. I much fear that those precious pearls he had, have been seen by
some one who has not scrupled to obtain possession of them by his
death."
"Yes, it would seem so indeed; but what are pearls to me? Oh! would that
they had sunk to the bottom of that Indian sea, from whence they had
been plucked. Alas, alas! it has been their thirst for gain that has
produced all these evils. We might have been poor here, but we should
have been happy. Rich we ought to have been, in contentment; but now all
is lost, and the world to me can present nothing that is to be desired,
but one small spot large enough to be my grave."
She leant upon the arm of the garden-seat, and gave herself up to such a
passion of tears that Colonel Jeffery felt he dared not interrupt her.
There is something exceeding sacred about real grief which awes the
beholder, and it was with an involuntary feeling of respect that Colonel
Jeffery stepped a few paces off, and waited until that burst of agony
had passed away. It was during those brief moments that he overheard
some words uttered by one who seemed likewise to be suffering from that
prolific source of all affliction, disappointed affection. Seated at
some short distance was a maiden, and one not young enough to be called
a youth, but still not far enough advanced in existence to have had all
his better feelings crushed by an admixture with the cold world, and he
was listening while the maiden spoke.
"It is the neglect," she said, "which touched me to the heart. But one
word spoken or written, one message of affection, to tell me that the
memory of a love I thought would be eternal, still lingered in your
heart, would have been a world of consolation; but it came not, and all
was despair."
"Listen to me," said her companion, "and if ever in this world you can
believe that one who truly loves can be cruel to be kind, believe that I
am that one. I yielded for a time to the fascination of a passion which
should never have found a home within my heart; but yet it was far more
of a sentiment than a passion, inasmuch as never for one moment did an
evil thought mingle with its pure aspirations.
"It was a dream of joy, which for a time obliterated a remembrance that
ought never to have been forgotten; but when I was rudely awakened to
the fact that those whose opinions were of importance to your welfare
and your happiness knew nothing of love, but in its grossest aspect, it
became necessary at once to crush a feeling, which, in its continuance,
could shadow forth nothing but evil."
"You may not imagine, and you may never know--for I cannot tell the
heart-pangs that it has cost me to persevere in a line of conduct which
I felt was due to you--whatever heart-pangs it might cost me. I have
been content to imagine that your affection would turn to indifference,
perchance to hatred; that a consciousness of being slighted would arouse
in your defence all a woman's pride, and that thus you would be lifted
above regret. Farewell for ever! I dare not love you honestly and truly;
and better is it thus to part than to persevere in a delusive dream that
can but terminate in degradation and sadness."
"Do you hear those words?" whispered Colonel Jeffery to Johanna. "You
perceive that others suffer, and from the same cause, the perils of
affection."
"I do. I will go home, and pray for strength to maintain my heart
against this sad affliction."
"The course of true love never yet ran smooth; wonder not, therefore,
Johanna Oakley, that yours has suffered such a blight. It is the great
curse of the highest and noblest feelings of which humanity is capable,
that while, under felicitous circumstances, they produce to us an
extraordinary amount of happiness; when anything adverse occurs, they
are most prolific sources of misery. Shall I accompany you?"
Johanna felt grateful for the support of the colonel's arm towards her
own home, and as they passed the barber's shop they were surprised to
see that the dog and the hat were gone.
CHAPTER VII.
THE BARBER AND THE LAPIDARY.
It is night; and a man, one of the most celebrated lapidaries in London,
but yet a man frugal withal, although rich, is putting up the shutters
of his shop.
This lapidary is an old man; his scanty hair is white, and his hands
shake as he secures the fastenings, and then, over and over again, feels
and shakes each shutter, to be assured that his shop is well secured.
This shop of his is in Moorfields, then a place very much frequented by
dealers in bullion and precious stones. He was about entering his door,
just having cast a satisfied look upon the fastening of his shop, when a
tall, ungainly-looking man stepped up to him. This man had a
three-cornered hat, much too small for him, perched upon the top of his
great hideous-looking head, while the coat he wore had ample skirts
enough to have made another of ordinary dimensions.
Our readers will have no difficulty in recognising Sweeney Todd, and
well might the little old lapidary start as such a very
unprepossessing-looking personage addressed him.
"You deal," he said, "in precious stones."
"Yes, I do," was the reply; "but it's rather late. Do you want to buy or
sell?"
"To sell."
"Humph! Ah, I dare say it's something not in my line; the only order I
get is for pearls, and they are not in the market."
"And I have nothing but pearls to sell," said Sweeney Todd; "I mean to
keep all my diamonds, my garnets, topazes, brilliants, emeralds, and
rubies."
"The deuce you do! Why, you don't mean to say you have any of them? Be
off with you! I am too old to joke with, and am waiting for my supper."
"Will you look at the pearls I have?"
"Little seed pearls, I suppose; they are of no value, and I don't want
them, we have plenty of those. It's real, genuine, large pearls we want.
Pearls worth thousands."
"Will you look at mine?"
"No; good night!"
"Very good; then I will take them to Mr. Coventry up the street. He
will, perhaps, deal with me for them if you cannot."
The lapidary hesitated. "Stop," he said; "what's the use of going to Mr.
Coventry? he has not the means of purchasing what I can pay present cash
for. Come in, come in; I will, at all events, look at what you have for
sale."
Thus encouraged, Sweeney Todd entered the little, low, dusky shop, and
the lapidary having procured a light, and taken care to keep his
customer outside the counter, put on his spectacles, and said--
"Now, sir, where are your pearls?"
"There," said Sweeney Todd, as he laid a string of twenty-four pearls
before the lapidary.
The old man's eyes opened to an enormous width, and he pushed his
spectacles right upon his forehead as he glared in the face of Sweeney
Todd with undisguised astonishment. Then down came his spectacles again,
and taking up the string of pearls he rapidly examined every one of