My father is so good, I have no mother." "And I, too, am motherless." "Yes, I--I heard that Mrs. Oakley--"

"Lived, you would say; and yet am I motherless." Johanna burst into tears. The sense of desolation that came over the
young girl's heart whenever she thought how little of a mother the
fanatical personage who owned that title was to her, generally overcame
all her firmness, as upon the present occasion. Ann flung her arms
around Johanna, and the two young creatures wept in unison. We will
leave them to their sacred intercourse. *       *       *       *       *

Sir Richard Blunt remained in conversation with Mr. Orton for about a
quarter of an hour, and then both Johanna and Ann came down stairs. Johanna looked calmer and happier. Ann had said some kind things to
her--such as none but a young girl can say to a young girl. "I am ready," said Johanna. "Ready for what?" enquired Sir Richard Blunt, with a look of earnest
affection in the face of the beautiful heroine--for if ever there were a
heroine, we really think Johanna Oakley was one, and we are quite sure
that you agree with us. "For my mission," said Johanna, "I am ready." "And can you really find courage to go again to that--that--"

Sir Richard could not find a fitting name for Todd's home, but Johanna
understood him, and she replied gently--

"I may not pause now. It is my duty." "Your duty?" "Yes. Oh, Mark--Mark, I cannot restore you from the dead, but in the
sacred cause of justice I may bring your murderer to the light of day. It is my duty to do so much for your memory." Ann turned aside to hide her tears. Mr. Orton, too, was much affected,
and there was an unwonted jar, as though some false note had had been
struck in voice of Sir Richard Blunt as he spoke, saying--

"Miss Oakley, I will not--I cannot deny that by your going back to
Todd's house, you may materially assist in the cause of justice. But yet
I advise you not to do so." "I know you are all careful of my safety, while I--"

"Ah, Johanna," said Ann, "you do not know yet that you are so desolate
as to wish to die." "Yes, yes--I am desolate." "And so," added Sir Richard, "because you loved one who has been,
according to your judgment upon the circumstances that have come to your
knowledge, torn from you by death, you will admit no other ties which
could bind you to the world. Is that right? Is it like you?" The tones of voice in which these words were uttered, as well as the
sentiment embodied in them, sunk deeply into Johanna's heart. Clasping
her hands together, she cried--

"Oh, no, no! Do no think me so inhuman. Do not think me so very
ungrateful." "Had you forgotten, Arabella Wilmot? Had you forgotten your father? Nay,
had you forgotten the brave Colonel Jeffery?" "No, no! I ought not to forget any, when so many have so kindly
remembered me, and you too, sir, I ought not, and will not forget you,
for you have been a kind friend to me." "Nay, I am nothing." "Seek not, sir, to disparage what you have done, you have been all
kindness to me." Before he was aware of what she was about, Johanna had seized the hand
of Sir Richard Blunt, and for one brief moment touched it with her lips. The good magistrate was sensibly affected. "God bless me!" said Mr. Orton, "something very big keeps blocking up
the whole of my window." They all looked, and as they were silent at that moment, they heard a
voice from the street, say--

"Come! Come, my dear! Don't set the water-works a-going. Always
remember, that easy does it. You come in here, and have something to
eat, if you won't go home. Lor bless me! what will they think has become
of me at the tower?" "Why, it is Ben!" cried Johanna. "Ben?" said Ann. "Who is Ben?" "Hush! Stop," said Sir Richard, "I pray you, stop." Johanna would have rushed out to speak to Ben, who certainly was at the
window of the fruiterer's shop, with Arabella Wilmot upon his arm,
endeavouring to persuade her to enter, and partake of some refreshment. "I will bring him in," said Sir Richard. "Retire into the parlour, I beg
of you, Miss Oakley, for he will make quite a scene in the shop if you
do not." Johanna knew well Ben's affection for her, and doubted not, but that as
Sir Richard said, he would not scruple to show it, even in the open
shop, probably to the great edification of the passers by. She
accordingly retired to the parlour with Ann. In a few moments, Sir
Richard Blunt ushered in both Ben and Arabella Wilmot. Arabella with a
shriek of joy, rushed into Johanna's arms, and then with excess of
emotion she fainted. Ben caught up Johanna fairly off her feet, as
though he had been dancing some little child, and holding her in a
sitting posture upon one arm, he said--

"Bless you! Easy does it. Easy I say--does--it. Don't you think I'm a
crying. It's a tea-chest has flew in my eye from that grocer's shop
opposite. Oh, you little rogue, you. Easy does it. What you have got
them what do you call 'ems on, have you?" The kiss that Ben gave her might have been heard at Sweeney Todd's, and
then when prevailed upon to sit down, he would insist upon holding her
fast upon his knee. "I must go," said Johanna, and then looking at Arabella, she added--"Let
me go, before she awakens from her transient forgetfulness to beg me to
stay." Ben was furious at the idea of Johanna going back to Todd's, but Sir
Richard, overruled him, and after some trouble, got him to consent. Then
turning to Johanna, he said--

"The moment night comes on, you will have some visitors, and remember,
Miss Oakley, that St. Dunstan's is the watch-word. Whoever comes to you
with that in his mouth, is a friend." "I will remember, and now farewell and God bless and reward you for all
your goodness to me. I will live for the many who love me yet, and whom
I love in this world." *       *       *       *       *

Was it not a world of wonders that amid all this, Johanna did not go
mad? Surely something more than mortal strength must have sustained that
young and innocent girl in the midst of all these strange events. No
human power that she possessed, could have possibly prevented her mind
from sinking, and the hideous fascinations of an overcharged fancy from
breeding

    "Rude riot in her brain." But there was a power who supported her--a power which from the
commencement of the world has supported many--a power which while the
world continues, will support many more, strengthening the weak and
trampling on the strong. The power of love in all the magic of its deep
and full intensity. Yes, this was the power which armed that frail and
delicate-looking girl with strength to cope with such a man--man shall
we call him? no, we may say such a fiend as Sweeney Todd. If it required
no small amount of moral courage to go in the first instance upon that
expedition--so fraught with danger, to Todd's shop--what did it require
now to enable her to return after having passed through much peril, and
tasting the sweets of friendship and sympathy?