That curiosity
was, however, soon turned to dismay when he saw what was written upon
it, which was to the following effect, and well calculated to produce a
considerable amount of alarm in the breast of any one situated as he
was, so entirely friendless and so entirely hopeless of any extraneous
aid in those dismal vaults, which he began, with a shudder, to suspect
would be his tomb:--

"You are getting dissatisfied, and therefore it becomes necessary to
explain to you your real position, which is simply this:--You are a
prisoner, and were such from the first moment that you set foot where
you now are; and you will find, unless you are resolved upon sacrificing
your life, that your best plan will be to quietly give into the
circumstances in which you find yourself placed. Without going into any
argument or details upon the subject, it is sufficient to inform you
that so long as you continue to make the pies, you will be safe; but if
you refuse, then the first time you are caught asleep your throat will
be cut." This document was so much to the purpose, and really had so little of
verbosity about it, that it was extremely difficult to doubt its
sincerity. It dropped from the half-paralysed hands of that man, who, in
the depth of his distress, and urged on by great necessity, had accepted
a situation that he would have given worlds to escape from, had he been
possessed of them. "Gracious Heaven!" he exclaimed, "and am I then indeed condemned to such
a slavery? Is it possible, that even in the heart of London, I am a
prisoner, and without the means of resisting the most frightful threats
that are uttered against me? Surely, surely this must be all a dream! It
is too terrific to be true!" He sat down upon that low stool where his predecessor had sat before,
receiving his death-wound from the assassin who had glided in behind
him, and dealt him that crashing blow, whose only mercy was that it had
at once deprived the victim of existence. He could have wept bitterly,
wept as he there sat, for he thought over days long passed away, of
opportunities let go by with the heedless laugh of youth; he thought
over all the chances and fortunes of his life, and now to find himself
the miserable inhabitant of a cellar, condemned to a mean and
troublesome employment, without even the liberty of leaving that, to
starve if he chose, upon pain of death--a frightful death, which had
been threatened him, was indeed torment! No wonder that at times he felt
himself unnerved, and that a child might have conquered him, while at
other moments such a feeling of despair would come across him, that he
called aloud upon his enemies to make their appearance, and give him at
least the chance of a struggle for his life. "If I am to die," he cried, "let me die with some weapon in my hand, as
a brave man ought, and I will not complain, for there is little indeed
in life now which should induce me to cling to it; but I will not be
murdered in the dark." He sprang to his feet, and rushing up to the door, which opened from the
house into the vaults, he made a violent and desperate effort to shake
it. But such a contingency as this had surely been looked forward to and
provided against, for the door was of amazing strength, and most
effectually resisted all his efforts, so that the result of his
endeavours was but to exhaust himself, and he staggered back, panting
and despairing, to the seat he had so recently left. Then he heard a
voice, and upon looking up he saw that the small square opening in the
upper part of the door, through which he had been before addressed, was
open, and a face there appeared, but it was not the face of Mrs. Lovett. On the contrary, it was a large and hideous male physiognomy, and the
voice that came from it was croaking and harsh, sounding most
unmusically upon the ears of the unfortunate man who was thus made a
victim to Mrs. Lovett's pie popularity. "Continue at your work," said the voice, "or death will be your portion
as soon as sleep overcomes you, and you sink exhausted to that repose
which you will never awaken from, except to feel the pangs of death, and
to be conscious that you are weltering in your blood. Continue at your
work, and you will escape all this--neglect it, and your doom is
sealed." [Illustration: The Stranger In Mrs. Lovett's Bakehouse.] "What have I done that I should be made such a victim of? Let me go, and
I will swear never to divulge the fact that I have been in these vaults,
so I cannot disclose any of their secrets, even if knew them." "Make pies," said the voice, "eat them, and be happy. How many a man
would envy your position--withdrawn from all the struggles of existence,
amply provided with board and lodging, and engaged in a pleasant and
delightful occupation; it is astonishing how you can be dissatisfied!" Bang! went the little square orifice at the top of the door, and the
voice was heard no more. The jeering mockery of those tones, however,
still lingered upon the ear of the unhappy prisoner, and he clasped his
head in his hands with a fearful impression upon his brain that he
surely must be going mad. "He will drive me to insanity," he cried; "already I feel a sort of
slumber stealing over me for want of exercise, and the confined air of
these vaults hinder me from taking regular repose; but now, if I close
an eye, I shall expect to find the assassin's knife at my throat." He sat for some time longer, and not even the dread he had of sleep
could prevent a drowsiness creeping across his faculties, and this
weariness would not be shaken off by any ordinary means, until at length
he sprang to his feet, and shaking himself roughly, like one determined
to be wide awake, he said to himself, mournfully--

"I must do their bidding or die; hope may be a delusion here, but I
cannot altogether abandon it, and not until its faintest image has
departed from my breast can I lie down to sleep and say--Let death come
in any shape it may, it is welcome." With a desperate and despairing energy he set about replenishing the
furnaces of the oven, and, when he had got them all in a good state, he
commenced manufacturing a batch of one hundred pies, which, when he had
finished and placed upon the tray, and set the machine in motion which
conducted them up to the shop, he considered to be a sort of price paid
for his continued existence, and flinging himself upon the ground, he
fell into a deep slumber. CHAPTER XXI. THE NIGHT AT THE MADHOUSE. When Sweeney Todd had, with such diabolical want of feeling, whispered
the few words of mockery which we have recorded in Tobias's ear, when he
was carried out of Mr. Fogg's reception-room to be taken to a cell, the
villanous barber drew back and indulged in rather a longer laugh than
usual. "Mr. Todd," said Fogg, "I find that you still retain your habit of
merriment; but yours ain't the most comfortable laugh in the world, and
we seldom hear anything equal to it, even from one of our cells." "No!"