The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.

come over her, would still have protested that she wanted nothing, but Sir Richard Blunt opened the door of the parlour, and called out-- "Mr. Orton, is your daughter at home?" "Yes, Sir Richard, Ann is up stairs." "Very good. My young friend here can find the way, I dare say. Is it the first floor?" "Yes, don't you hear her practising upon her spinet." The tinkling sounds of a spinet, then all the fashion; came upon their ears, and Sir Richard, said to Johanna-- "Go up stairs, now, to that young lady. She is about your own age, and her father's housekeeper. She will find you something to eat and drink, and then come down to me, as soon as you can." Sir Richard nodded to Mr. Orton, who nodded in return, and then Johanna seeing that it was all right, ascended the staircase, and guided by the sound of the spinet, soon found herself in a tolerably handsome room, upon the first floor. A young girl with a profusion of chesnut curls hanging down her back, was seated at the spinet. Johanna made up to her at once, and throwing her arms round her neck, said-- "And will you say a kind word to me?" The girl gave a slight scream, and rose. "Well, I'm sure, you impertinant--handsome--" "Girl," said Johanna. "Boy," faltered Miss Orton. "No, girl," added Johanna. "Your father sent me to you, and Sir Richard Blunt suggested it. Shall I leave you again." "Oh, no--no," said Ann Orton, as she sprang towards Johanna, and kissed her on both cheeks, "you are Miss Johanna Oakley." "How is it that you know me?" "My father is an old friend of Sir Richard's, and he has told us all your story. How truly delighted I am to see you. And so you have escaped from that odious Todd, and--" "Immediate refreshment, my dear, and all the attention you can cram into a very short space of time to Miss Oakley, my dear," said Mr. Orton, just putting his head so far into the room as to make himself plainly and distinctly heard. "Yes, father, yes." "How kind you all are," said Johanna. "No--no--at least we wish to be, but what I mean is that we are no kinder than we ought to be. My father is so good, I have no mother." "And I, too, am motherless." "Yes, I--I heard that Mrs. Oakley--" "Lived, you would say; and yet am I motherless." Johanna burst into tears. The sense of desolation that came over the young girl's heart whenever she thought how little of a mother the fanatical personage who owned that title was to her, generally overcame all her firmness, as upon the present occasion. Ann flung her arms around Johanna, and the two young creatures wept in unison. We will leave them to their sacred intercourse. * * * * * Sir Richard Blunt remained in conversation with Mr. Orton for about a quarter of an hour, and then both Johanna and Ann came down stairs. Johanna looked calmer and happier. Ann had said some kind things to her--such as none but a young girl can say to a young girl. "I am ready," said Johanna. "Ready for what?" enquired Sir Richard Blunt, with a look of earnest affection in the face of the beautiful heroine--for if ever there were a heroine, we really think Johanna Oakley was one, and we are quite sure that you agree with us. "For my mission," said Johanna, "I am ready." "And can you really find courage to go again to that--that--" Sir Richard could not find a fitting name for Todd's home, but Johanna understood him, and she replied gently-- "I may not pause now. It is my duty." "Your duty?" "Yes. Oh, Mark--Mark, I cannot restore you from the dead, but in the sacred cause of justice I may bring your murderer to the light of day. It is my duty to do so much for your memory." Ann turned aside to hide her tears. Mr. Orton, too, was much affected, and there was an unwonted jar, as though some false note had had been struck in voice of Sir Richard Blunt as he spoke, saying-- "Miss Oakley, I will not--I cannot deny that by your going back to Todd's house, you may materially assist in the cause of justice. But yet I advise you not to do so." "I know you are all careful of my safety, while I--" "Ah, Johanna," said Ann, "you do not know yet that you are so desolate as to wish to die." "Yes, yes--I am desolate." "And so," added Sir Richard, "because you loved one who has been, according to your judgment upon the circumstances that have come to your knowledge, torn from you by death, you will admit no other ties which could bind you to the world. Is that right? Is it like you?" The tones of voice in which these words were uttered, as well as the sentiment embodied in them, sunk deeply into Johanna's heart. Clasping her hands together, she cried-- "Oh, no, no! Do no think me so inhuman. Do not think me so very ungrateful." "Had you forgotten, Arabella Wilmot? Had you forgotten your father? Nay, had you forgotten the brave Colonel Jeffery?" "No, no! I ought not to forget any, when so many have so kindly remembered me, and you too, sir, I ought not, and will not forget you, for you have been a kind friend to me." "Nay, I am nothing." "Seek not, sir, to disparage what you have done, you have been all kindness to me." Before he was aware of what she was about, Johanna had seized the hand of Sir Richard Blunt, and for one brief moment touched it with her lips. The good magistrate was sensibly affected. "God bless me!" said Mr. Orton, "something very big keeps blocking up the whole of my window." They all looked, and as they were silent at that moment, they heard a voice from the street, say-- "Come! Come, my dear! Don't set the water-works a-going. Always remember, that easy does it. You come in here, and have something to eat, if you won't go home. Lor bless me! what will they think has become of me at the tower?" "Why, it is Ben!" cried Johanna. "Ben?" said Ann. "Who is Ben?" "Hush! Stop," said Sir Richard, "I pray you, stop." Johanna would have rushed out to speak to Ben, who certainly was at the window of the fruiterer's shop, with Arabella Wilmot upon his arm, endeavouring to persuade her to enter, and partake of some refreshment. "I will bring him in," said Sir Richard. "Retire into the parlour, I beg of you, Miss Oakley, for he will make quite a scene in the shop if you do not." Johanna knew well Ben's affection for her, and doubted not, but that as Sir Richard said, he would not scruple to show it, even in the open shop, probably to the great edification of the passers by. She accordingly retired to the parlour with Ann. In a few moments, Sir Richard Blunt ushered in both Ben and Arabella Wilmot. Arabella with a shriek of joy, rushed into Johanna's arms, and then with excess of emotion she fainted. Ben caught up Johanna fairly off her feet, as though he had been dancing some little child, and holding her in a sitting posture upon one arm, he said-- "Bless you! Easy does it. Easy I say--does--it. Don't you think I'm a crying. It's a tea-chest has flew in my eye from that grocer's shop opposite. Oh, you little rogue, you. Easy does it. What you have got them what do you call 'ems on, have you?" The kiss that Ben gave her might have been heard at Sweeney Todd's, and then when prevailed upon to sit down, he would insist upon holding her fast upon his knee. "I must go," said Johanna, and then looking at Arabella, she added--"Let me go, before she awakens from her transient forgetfulness to beg me to stay." Ben was furious at the idea of Johanna going back to Todd's, but Sir Richard, overruled him, and after some trouble, got him to consent. Then turning to Johanna, he said-- "The moment night comes on, you will have some visitors, and remember, Miss Oakley, that St. Dunstan's is the watch-word. Whoever comes to you with that in his mouth, is a friend." "I will remember, and now farewell and God bless and reward you for all your goodness to me. I will live for the many who love me yet, and whom I love in this world." * * * * * Was it not a world of wonders that amid all this, Johanna did not go mad? Surely something more than mortal strength must have sustained that young and innocent girl in the midst of all these strange events. No human power that she possessed, could have possibly prevented her mind from sinking, and the hideous fascinations of an overcharged fancy from breeding "Rude riot in her brain." But there was a power who supported her--a power which from the commencement of the world has supported many--a power which while the world continues, will support many more, strengthening the weak and trampling on the strong. The power of love in all the magic of its deep and full intensity. Yes, this was the power which armed that frail and delicate-looking girl with strength to cope with such a man--man shall we call him? no, we may say such a fiend as Sweeney Todd. If it required no small amount of moral courage to go in the first instance upon that expedition--so fraught with danger, to Todd's shop--what did it require now to enable her to return after having passed through much peril, and tasting the sweets of friendship and sympathy? Surely any heart but Johanna's must have shrunk aghast from ever again even in thought, approaching that dreadful place. And yet she went. Yes upon her mission of justice she went. To be sure, she was told that as far as human means went, she would be upheld and supported from those without; but what could that assure to her further than that if she fell she should not fall unavenged? Truly, if some higher, some far nobler impulse than that derived from any consciousness that she was looked after, had not strengthened her, the girl's spirit, must have sunk beneath the weight of many terrors. With a sad smile she once again crossed the threshold of that house, which she now no longer suspected to be the murderer's haunt. She knew it. CHAPTER LXXXII. TODD PLANS. How she sped with Todd we are already aware. Let us take a peep at the arch-demon in that parlour, which he considered his sanctuary, his city of refuge as it were. At least Todd considered it to be such, whether it was or not. He sits at a table, the table beneath which there was no floor, and covering up his face with his huge hands, he sets about thinking. Yes, that man now abandons himself to thought, as to how he is, with a blaze of wickedness, to disappear from the scene of his iniquities. It was not remorse that now filled his brain. It was not any feeling of bitter heart-felt regret for what he had done that oppressed him now. No such feeling might possibly find a home in his heart at the hour of success, but now when he saw and felt that he was surrounded by many difficulties, it had no home in his brain. But yet he thought that they were only difficulties that now surrounded; he did not as yet dream of positive danger. He still reasoned, as you have heard him reason before, namely, that if anything beyond mere suspicion were entertained regarding his mode of life, he would be at once apprehended. He thought that somebody--most likely Colonel Jeffery--was trying to find out something, and the fact that he, Todd, was there in his own parlour, a free man, appeared to him proof-sufficient that nothing was found out. "How fallacious!" If he had but known that he was virtually in custody even then, as he, indeed, really was, for Fleet-street was alive with officers and the emissaries of the police. If he had but guessed so much for a moment what a wild tumult would have been raised in his brain. But he knew nothing and suspected little. After a time from generalizing upon his