The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 315: what you’re looking at

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

God—God help me!” Arabella’s aunt rose in the greatest alarm, and rung the bell so sharply, that it brought everybody that was in the house to that room, and Mr. Lupin, when he saw what a congregation there was, rose up and said in a snuffling voice— “Ts there any objection to a prayer?” “The greatest at present, sir,” said Arabella’s aunt. “Sir, there is a time for all things. The state of poor Mr. Oakley, now claims all our care, if you are his friend—” At these words, Oakley appeared to shake off much of the prostrating effects of the first dreadful conviction, that what Lupin had told him was true, and he said— “No—no, he is no friend—he is a bitter enemy. The enemy of my peace, and of my dear child. I am calmer now, and I demand—I implore, that that man be made to leave this house.” “Brother Oakley,” said Lupin, “you brought me here.” “And I now command you hence. Begone, villain, begone; go and exult over the heart-broken father’s grief; go and tell the tale where you will. You cannot move me now—go—go—go.” “Truly I will go presently, but first of all, I say to you, brother Oakley,hardened sinner as you are, repent. Down upon your knees all of you, and join me in prayer, that the unbelievers may roll upon billows of burning brimstone, and that ‘i “Come,” said a man, who happened to be in the house upon some domestic errand, “Mrs. Wilmot says you are to go, and go you shall. Come, be off—I know who you are. You are the rascal that married the widow in Moorfields, but who, they say, has another wife in Liverpool. If you don’t go, I shall give you in charge for bigamy, and the widow says she will spend her last penny in prosecuting 39 you. To meet any one half so well informed about his affairs, would have been a terrible blow to Mr. Lupin; but when he found that this man, who was a kind of jobbing cabinet-maker knew so much, his great goggle eyes opened to an alarming width, and he made a movement towards the door. Still, he did not like to go without saying something. “Flee, ye wretches,” he said, “from the wrath to come! You will all go into the bottomless pit, you will, and I shall rejoice at it, and sing many songs of joy over you. Scoffers and mockers, I leave you all to your fate. The devil will have you all, and that is a great comfort and gratification to the elect and to the saints.” With this, Mr. Lupin made a precipitate retreat, having achieved about as little in the way of satisfying his curiosity as could very well be conceived. It was a relief—a great relief to Mr. Oakley to be rid of such a witness to his feelings as Lupin; and when he had fairly gone, and the outer door was closed upon him, the spectacle-maker, with clasped hands, and countenance expressive of the greatest possible amount of mental agony, spoke— “Dismiss all but ourselves, madam,” he said. “There’s that to say which may be said to you alone, but which it would break my heart to say to many.” The room was soon clear, and then Oakley continued in a low faltering voice those inquiries, each answer to which was so fatal to his peace of mind. “Madam,” he said, “Is not my child—my Johanna—here staying on a visit with Arabella?” “No, no—certainly not.” This was so frightfully conclusive, that it was some few moments before he could go on; but when he did, he said— “Ts Arabella in the house?” “That, Mr. Oakley,” replied the aunt, “is a question I cannot answer you at the moment; but rest and compose yourself for a few moments, and I will ascertain myself if she be in or out, and if the latter, when she was last seen.” “T am much beholden to you, madam. I am a poor old man, much broken in spirit, and with but one strong tie to bind me to a world which has nearly done with me. That tie is the love of my dear child, Johanna. Alas! if that be broken, I am all adrift, and at the mercy of the winds and waves of evil fortune; and the sooner I close my eyes in the long sleep of death, the better for me and all who feel for 33 me. “Nay, Mr. Oakley, I look upon it as a thing almost criminal to despair. There is one maxim which I have learnt in my experience of life, and which I am sure you must have had abundant opportunities of learning likewise. It is, ‘Never to trust to appearances.’” The old man looked at her with a saddened aspect. It was quite evident his feelings had been too strongly acted upon to make any philosophy available to him; and when she left the room to make the inquiries concerning Arabella, he wrung his hands, and wept. “Yes,” he said, “yes, I am indeed alone now—a wreck—a straw upon the ocean of society. The sooner I drift in the grave now, the better for me, and all who pity the old man. Oh, Johanna-Johanna. My child—my beautiful, why did you not wait until I was dead before you left me? Then I should have slept calmly and known nothing; but now my days and nights will be dreams of horror.” The door opened and the aunt re-appeared. “Arabella is not within,” she said, “and as not been seen for some hours now. When last seen her manner was evidently perturbed. But now, Mr. Oakley, sit down by me and tell me as clearly and as distinctly, all you know and all you fear. There are few evils in this world but there are some remedies for, and you shall have my true and calm opinion if you will tell me all.” It is something astonishing, and yet one of the most ordinary of mental phenomena, to note what a power a cool and clear intellect will exert over one that is distracted and full of woe and clamorous grief. Mr. Oakley did sit down by the side of Arabella’s aunt, and he told her all that happened the girl of which, of course, was the real or supposed appearance of Johanna in Fleet Street, in male attire. CORniclooo S CO)