The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 222: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“T thank you, sir, deeply and truly thank you; and—and—now—now—” “Now, you would say, tell me my news.” “Yes. Oh, yes.” “Then let us walk upon this broad path, by the river, while, in the first instance, I tell you that it was only from a deep sense of duty, and a feeling that I ought not, upon any consideration, to keep anything from you, that I came here to-day to give you some more information, and yet fresh information.” “You are very—very good to me, sir.” “No—no, do not say that, Miss Oakley. I am a friend. I am only very selfish; but, in brief, the lad who was in the barber’s service at the time we think Mark Ingestrie called at the shop with the string of pearls in his possession, has told us all he knows upon the subject, freely.” “Yes—yes; and—and—” “He knows very little.” “But that little?” “Just amounts to this:—That such a person did come to the shop, and that he is quite clear that he never left it.” 33 ! “Quite clear that he never left it!” repeated Johanna—“that he never left it. Quite clear that—that—” She burst into tears, and clung to Arabella Wilmot for support. The colonel looked inexpressibly distressed, but he did not speak. He felt that any commonplace topics of consolation would have been an insult; and he had seen enough of human feelings to know that such bursts of passionate grief cannot be stemmed, but must have their course, and that such tears will flow like irresistible torrents into the ocean of eternity. Arabella was greatly distressed. She had not expected that Johanna would have given way in such a manner, and she looked at Colonel Jeffery as though she would have said—‘Is it possible that you can say nothing to calm this grief?” He shook his head, but made no reply in words. In a few moments, however, Johanna was wonderfully recovered. She was able to speak more composedly than she had done since the commencement of the interview. “Tell me all, now,” she said. “I can bear to hear it all.” “You know all, Miss Oakley. The poor boy, in whose fate I have felt sufficiently interested to take him into my care, says that such a man as Thornhill did come to his master’s shop. That he (the boy) was sent out upon some trivial errand, merely to get him out of the way, and that, pending his return, this visitor disappeared. He deposes to the fact of the dog watching the door.” “The dog?” “Yes. Thornhill, it seems, had a faithful dog with him.” “Ah, Arabella, we must have seen that dog.” “Has not the creature, then, fallen a victim to Todd’s malevolence?” “We think not, sir,” said Arabella. “Go on—go on,” said Johanna; “what more?” “The boy states that he is certain he saw the hat of the visitor with the dog in Todd’s house, after Todd had declared he had left, and proceeded to the city.” “The hat—the dog. Alas! alas!” “Nay, Miss Oakley, do not forget one thing, and that is, that neither you nor any one else have as yet identified this Mr. Thornhill as Mr. Ingestrie.” “No, not positively; but my heart tells me—” “Ah, Miss Oakley, the heart is the slave of the feelings and of the imagination. You must not always trust to its testimony or emotions upon cold fact.” “There is yet hope, then, Johanna,” said Arabella. “A bright hope for you to cling to, for, as this gentleman says, there is nothing positive to prove that Mr. Thornhill was Mark Ingestrie. I would not, were I you, abandon that hope on any account, while I lived, and could still clutch it. Would it not be a great thing, sir, if any papers or documents which this Thornhill might have had about him, could be recovered?” “Tt would indeed.” Arabella at first seemed upon the point of saying something contingent upon this remark of the colonel’s, or rather this acquiescence of his in her remark, but she thought better of it, and was silent, upon which Johanna spoke, saying— “And that is really all, sir?” “Tt is, Miss Oakley.” “But will nothing be done? Will no steps be taken to bring this man, Todd to justice?” “Yes, everything will be done; and indeed, anything that can be done consistently with sound policy is actually now. Sir Richard Blunt, one of the most acute, active, and personally daring of the magistrates of London, has the affair in hand, and you may be quite assured that he will pursue it with zeal.” “And what is he doing?” “Collecting such evidence against Todd, that at a moment the law will be enabled to come upon him with a certainty that by no ingenious quibble can he escape.” CORniclooo S CO)