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

the luxuries in life, sir, a good close shave--what I call a regular polish off, sir--is one of the greatest in a small way. Charley, ain't it near breakfast time, my good lad?" "Yes, sir," said Johanna. "I daresay it is." "Very good. The hot-water. Thank you my dear--you will take two pence from the till, Charley, and get yourself somewhere about the market a--Well now?" A thin man in a cloak made his appearance at the door of the shop, and taking off his hat, made a bow, as he said-- "I believe I have the pleasure of speaking to the pious Mr. Todd?" "My name is Todd, sir. What is it?" "I am truly delighted," said the tall thin man sitting down upon the nearest seat, and placing his hat upon his knees. "I am truly delighted to see you. Pray go on shaving that gentleman, as I shall be some time." "Some time about what?" almost screamed Todd. "Finding the tract, from which I purpose reading to you a few extracts upon the all-important subject of the election of grace, and the insufficiency of works." Todd stropped a razor, and glared at the intruder, who, fitting on his nose with great precision a pair of blue spectacles, began rummaging in his hat. "Humph! this is it. No--this is not it. Well, I thought I had it here, and so I have. This is--no. This is an imaginary and highly religious discourse upon saints, and _St. Dunstan_ in particular." Johanna knew in a moment that this other man was a friend likewise. He, too, had pronounced the words St. Dunstan in a peculiar manner. Todd suddenly became quite calm. "Sir," he said, "I take it as a very particular favour, indeed, that you should have called here upon such an errand, and I only beg that you will not hurry yourself in the least; I can go on shaving this gentleman, and perhaps when he is gone, you will permit me the honour of operating upon you?" "With great pleasure," replied the man. "Dear me, where can the tract be? Is this it? No--this is about the pious milkmaid, who always put up a prayer for the milking-pail, to prevent the cow from kicking it over. Dear me, where can it be? Oh, is this it? No--this is the story of the pious barber's boy, who, when he had an opportunity, went over the way and found his father there! Dear me, where can it be?" Johanna started. "The barber's boy," she thought, "who went over the way and found his father there? Those words are for me." She was now in quite a fever of anxiety to leave the shop, for she did not doubt but that by some means her father had heard of her position, and she felt that then nothing but the actual sight of her in perfect health and safety would satisfy him. But she dared not show the anxiety she felt. She bent over the fire, and affected to be stirring the turf. "You can go and get your breakfast, Charley," said Todd. "Thank you, sir." Johanna would not betray any haste, but she shook with agitation as she neared the door; and then she recollected that she had not taken the twopence from the till as she had been told to do, and that the circumstance of not doing so might create suspicion. She crept back and possessed herself of the pence. Todd watched her with the eyes of a demon. "Are you going, my dear Charley?" he said. "Yes, sir." She left the shop, and then her first impulse would have induced her to hurry over the road to the fruiterer's shop, but her eyes fell upon the figure of Sir Richard Blunt standing in the fruiterer's doorway. He moved his hand signifying that she should go towards the market, and she did so. He quickly followed her. She did not look behind her, until she was quite in the old Fleet-market; and then, just as she looked round, Sir Richard Blunt touched her arm. "You understood my message?" he said. "Yes. My father." "Exactly. It is concerning him. It appears that some busy-body, a man I understand named Lupin, has seen you in your present disguise, and informed him of it." "I know the man. He is one of those saintly hypocrites, who make religion the cloak for their vices." "Yes, there are not a few of them," said Sir Richard. "They revel in vice, and daily try to make the Almighty an accomplice in their offences against society. Well, then, Johanna, this man has tortured your father with an account of your being in this disguise." "It would torture him." "Naturally, without he knew all the reasons for it; but it appears that he went to the house of Miss Wilmot, and after some trouble saw her, when she, finding that he knew quite enough to make him wretched, and not enough to explain your position, frankly told him all, and brought him to me." "It was the best." "Most decidedly it was, and I need only say that he is anxiously waiting to see you, at our friend the fruiterer's house; but as it would not do for you to go direct from Todd's door to there, I have intercepted you, you see, to take you by a safer route." "How good, and kind, and considerate you are to me," said Johanna, as she looked up in the face of the magistrate, while tears started to her eyes. "Without you how miserably I must have failed in this adventure. Todd would no doubt before this have discovered me, and taken my life." "Don't say a word about that," replied Sir Richard. "Recollect that after all it was my duty to protect you; and if I have been a little more anxious than usual in the performance of that duty, it is because I admire your heroic constancy and courage, and hope to see you happy yet." "Alas! the sun of my happiness has set for ever. I can only now pray to Heaven, that it will endow me with patience to bear its decrees with serenity." "Well," added Sir Richard, "we will say no more upon that subject, just now. Come with me, and I will take you to your father by a safer way than just crossing the road from Todd's shop to the fruiterer's." He led her down a court in Bridge-street, and thence through a complete labyrinth of passages, some of which still exist at the back of Fleet Street, and some of which have been swept away, until they reached a door in a dingy-looking wall, at which he paused. "This is the back of the fruiterer's house," he said, "and I dare say some one is waiting for me." He tapped three times distinctly at the door, and then it was opened immediately by the fruiterer's daughter, who with a smile clasped Johanna in her arms. "Welcome," she said. "Welcome once again." "Ah, my dear friend," said Johanna, "I shall learn to bless the circumstances, commencing in affliction as they did, that have brought me acquainted with such kind hearts." They all three now crossed a little paved yard, and were soon in the fruiterer's house. "Where is my dear father?" said Johanna. "Where is he?" "This way," said the young girl, who took so great an interest in the fate of Johanna. "This way, dear. He is in our room up stairs, and will be no less delighted to see you, then you will be delighted to see him." "I am sure of that," said Johanna. She ran up the stairs with more speed that the fruiterer's daughter could make, and in another moment was in her father's arms. CHAPTER XCII. MR. OAKLEY'S ANXIETIES MUCH DIMINISH. For some few moments after this meeting, neither Mr. Oakley nor Johanna could speak. At length the old spectacle-maker was just able to say-- "Great God, I thank thee, that once again I hold my darling to my heart." "Father--father," said Johanna. "Did you think for one moment that I could have left you?" "No my dear, no; but I was bewildered by all I heard. I was half mad I think until I was told all; and now we will go home, my pretty darling, at once, and we will have no secrets from each other. Dear heart, what a pretty boy you make to be sure. But come--come. I am in an agony until I have you home again." "Father, listen to me." "Yes my child--my darling. Yes." "If it had not been for Sir Richard Blunt I should now have been with the dead, and you and I would never have met again, but in another world, father. I owe him, therefore, you will say, some gratitude." "Some gratitude, my darling? We owe him a world of gratitude. Alas, we shall never be able to repay him, but we will pray that he may be as happy as his noble heart deserves, my dear. God bless him!" "And, father, we will do any little thing he asks of us." "We will fly to obey his commands, my dear, in all things. Night or day, he will only have to speak to us, and what he says shall be our law." "Then, father, he asks of me, for the cause of public justice, that I should go back to Todd's, and wear this dress for the remainder only of to-day. Can we refuse him?" "Alas! Alas!" said the old man, "more trouble--more anxiety--more danger." "No, father. No danger. He will watch over me, and I have faith that Heaven is with me." "Can I part with you again?" "Yes, for such an object. Do not, father, say no to me, for you may say, and I will obey you; but with your own free consent, let me go now, and do the bidding of the great and the good man who has saved me to once more rest upon your breast, and kiss your cheek." The old man shook for a moment, and then he said-- "Go, go, my child. Go, and take with you my blessing, and the blessing of God, for surely that must be yours; but, oh! be careful. Remember, my darling, that upon your safety hangs my life; for if I were to hear that anything had happened to you, it would kill me. I have nothing now but you in the world to live for." "Oh, father, you do not mean to tell me that my mother is no more?" "No, my dear. No.--Ask me nothing now. You shall know all at another time. Only tell me when I shall see you again." "At sunset," said Sir Richard Blunt, as he stepped into the room at this moment. "At sunset, I hope, Mr. Oakley; and in the meantime be assured of her perfect safety. I offer my life as security for hers, and would not hesitate to sacrifice it for her." The manner of the magistrate was such that no one could for one moment doubt that he spoke the genuine sentiments at his heart; and such words, coming from such a quarter, it may be well supposed were calculated to produce a great impression. "I am satisfied," said Mr. Oakley. "I should be more than an unreasonable man if I were not fully convinced now of the safety of Johanna." When she had got her father to say this much, Johanna was anxious to be off, and she signified as much to Sir Richard Blunt, who fully acquiesced in the propriety of the measure, for already her absence had been quite long enough from the shop, and Todd might not be in the best of humours at her return. After one more embrace, Johanna tore herself from her father's arms, and followed the magistrate from the fruiterer's house, by the same route which had conducted her to it. On their way, he explained to her some little matters of which she was in ignorance, or at least concerning which she could only conjecture. "Both the persons, whom you left in Todd's shop," he said, "belong to my force; and the one only went for the protection of the other, as I, of course, surmised that you would be at once sent out of the way upon some real or mock errand, to give Todd opportunity of committing a murder. My great object is to find out precisely how he does the deed; and the man who came in to be shaved was to make what observations of the place he could during the ceremony, while the other distracted Todd's attention." "I understand," said Johanna. "I of course knew that they were friends when they mentioned the watchword of St. Dunstan to me." "Exactly. I gave them instructions to seize the very first opportunity of letting you hear the watch-word. Are there any large cupboards in the shop?"