The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 368: what you’re looking at

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

“T am afraid I have kept you waiting, sister Oakley.” “Oh, not at all, but there has been a man there who says his name is Smith, and he—” “T met him! I met him! It is all right. He heard something going on in the next house, I suppose, and mistook it for this. Pray cook the eggs to your liking, sister Oakley, and help yourself to anything. Don’t be particular, sister Oakley, but make yourself at home.” “T will, reverend sir, I will.” Mrs. Oakley was really playing her part very well, but she fancied each moment that the murderer would see something in her manner to give him a suspicion that she knew too much for his safety. She was wrong though, for upon the contrary, Mr. Lupin felt quite satisfied that the secret of his guilt was confined to his own breast. “T pray you, sister Oakley,” he said, “to eat freely of my humble fare, and after breakfast we will have a prayer.” It seemed to Mrs. Oakley, now that she had awakened to a sense of the awful hypocrisy of Mr. Lupin, something very horrible for him to talk of having a prayer; but she took care not to show what she felt in that particular. “How kind and good of you,” she said. “Ay, truly, sister Oakley, I am kind and good, and yet there are envious folks in the world, who I dare say would not hesitate to give even me a bad name.” “Impossible, surely.” “T would it were, I would it were, my dear sister Oakley, I would it were impossible.” “Tt seems to me, reverend sir, as though it would not be in the power of poor human nature to praise you too much; but it is time that I should think of going home now, if you please.” “Well, sister, if you must go home among the heathens and the Philistines, I will not hinder you; but with the hope of seeing you soon again, I will now offer up a prayer.” It was truly sickening even to Mrs. Oakley, whose feelings the reader will think could not be very fine, to see such an arch hypocrite offering up a prayer to that Deity whom he must so bitterly have offended by his awful crimes. But Mr. Lupin cut the prayer tolerably short, and then giving to Mrs. Oakley what he called the kiss of peace, and to which, loathsome as it was from him, she felt herself forced to submit, he bade her good day. And now, indeed, she began to entertain a sanguine hope, that she would be released from his company, and she should soon be in a condition to denounce him to justice for the awful crime which she had seen him commit. She could not possibly avoid a slight feeling of satisfaction to appear upon her face. “You seem pleased,” said Lupin. “T am, reverend sir.” “May I ask what at?” “Ah, how can I be otherwise than delighted, when I am assured by such a saint upon earth as yourself that I am one of the elect?” This was an answer with which, whether it was satisfactory or not, Mr. Lupin was, as it were, compelled to put up with; but taking up his hat, he said— “Truly, sister Oakley, it will become me to see you a part of the way home.” Mrs. Oakley expressed her satisfaction with the holy man’s company, and they both descended the stairs together. She felt, however, an exquisite pang of alarm upon finding that Lupin led her down the staircase that led to the chapel, and not down the one which would have conducted them to the ordinary door of exit from the domestic portion of the building. But even with all the dread upon her soul that he might be meditating some awful act in the chapel, she felt that she must assume a calmness though she felt it not. “Why this leads to the chapel,” she said. She thought it would sound more natural for her to make that remark, than to say nothing about it. “Yes, sister it does, and here is the trap-door that conducts to the vaults.” He suddenly turned upon her, and clutched her by the arm as he spoke. Poor Mrs. Oakley then really thought that her last hour was come, and that all along in pretending to have no suspicion of her, he was only dissembling. It was a mercy she did not at that terrible moment commit herself in some way. Surely Heaven supported her, for she did not. “Reverend sir,” she said, “what mean you?” “What mean I? I mean will you descend to the vaults with me?” “And pray? Yes, if you wish it.” “Nothing—nothing,” muttered Lupin. “What a fool I am. I might have been well convinced long ago, and yet I cannot forbear new trials. All is safe, all is safe. This way, sister Oakley, this way. I will only see you to the corner of your own street.” “Many thanks.” They both emerged from the chapel. Lupin slammed the door after him, and arm in arm they walked up the court together. Poor Mrs. Oakley felt that to be the most trying moment of all for her nerves. While she had much to do—while she was alone with Lupin in the domestic portion of the chapel, and while she knew that the least slip of the tongue, or the least want of control over her feelings might be her death—she conducted herself gallantly; but now when she was fairly in the open air, now that she was in CORniclooo S CO)