"Charley will live another day," he muttered; "but to-morrow night he
dies, and his body will be consumed with this house, and, I hope, a good
part of Fleet-street. It will not be prudent to get him to assist now in
disposing the combustibles to fire the house. He might speak of it
before to-morrow night." Todd came out into the shop. "Charley, my boy!" How kindly he spoke! "I am here, sir." "You must not mind what I say when I am vexed. Many things happen to put
me out of the way. Sometimes people that I have done I don't know how
much for, turn out to be very ungrateful, and then I get chafed, you
see, Charley." "Yes, sir, no doubt." "But, after I have retired to the parlour and prayed a little, my mind
soon recovers its usual religious tone, and its wonted serenity; and for
the sake of the Almighty, who, you know, is good to us all, Charley, I
forgive all that is done to me, and pray for the wicked." Johanna shuddered. This hypocrisy sounded awful to her. "Never go to rest, Charley, without saying your prayers. There's
threepence for you. You can get yourself a bed in the neighbourhood for
that amount somewhere, I daresay. I am very sorry I cannot accommodate
you here, Charley. Now go away, and let me have you here by seven in the
morning; and mind, above all things, cultivate a religious spirit, and
do unto your neighbours as you would that your neighbours should do unto
you." Johanna could not reply. "Here is a tract that you can read before you go to sleep, if they allow
you a candle, when you get a-bed. It is entitled 'Groans of Grace, or
the Sinner Sifted,' a most godly production, from a pious bookseller in
Paternoster-row, Charley." "Yes," Johanna just managed to say. "Now you may go." She darted from the shop. "Hilloa! hilloa! Stop--stop, Charley! Stop--stop, will you? Confound
you, stop! The infernal shutters are not up. Do you hear? I forgot
them." Todd rushed to his door. He looked right and left, and over the way,
and, in fact, everywhere, but no Charley was to be seen. The fact is,
that Johanna, the moment she felt herself released from the shop, had
darted over the way, and into the fruiterers, where she had found so
friendly a welcome before, and all this was done in such a moment, that
she was housed before Todd could get his shop-door open. "Welcome!" said a voice. She found it proceeded from the fruiterer's daughter, who had behaved so
kindly to her. Johanna burst into tears. "What has happened?--what has happened?" cried the young girl. "Nothing, now," said Johanna. "But I cannot keep up longer than when I
am in that shop. As soon as I am fairly out of the presence of that
dreadful man, I feel ready to faint." "Be of good cheer," said a deep-toned voice. She looked up, and saw Sir Richard Blunt. "You here, sir?" "Yes, Johanna. I have been now for some time watching Todd's shop from
our friend's first-floor window. I saw you dart across the road, and for
the moment feared something had gone wrong. Did Todd get two letters?" "He did." "They will, I hope, keep him quiet until another night. Dare you go back
again, Johanna, to that place?" "Yes, if it be necessary; but he has told me to sleep out, and the gust
of pleasure I felt at the permission, almost, I fear, betrayed me." "He came to the door and looked furiously after you, but he did not see
which way you had come. You were over here like a flash of light." "He would have had me back again, then?--What could that be for?" "At all events, you shall not go until the morning, and not then, unless
after a night's rest here, you feel that you can do so with a good
heart." "Oh yes, I will fulfil my mission." "Todd is putting up his shutters," said the fruiterer, as he came in
from his front shop. "Ah, then the secret is out," said Sir Richard Blunt. "That is what he
wanted you back for, Johanna. He had forgotten at the moment all about
the shutters you may depend. I am glad he spared you the trouble, at any
rate. I do not like you to perform any service for such a rank villain
as he is." "It would not have been for him, sir." "For who, then?" "For the dead. I feel that I am bound to bring to justice the murderer
of Mark Ingestrie. When I was here last, sir, you strove to comfort me,
by making me feel a sort of hope that he was not dead, but I cannot
think that--I would that I could, but indeed I cannot, sir." "Do not be too sure, Johanna." "Nay, look at that." She laid before the magistrate the sleeve of the jacket that she had
found at Todd's, and which fancy, for she certainly had no proof that
way tending, told her had belonged to Mark Ingestrie. "What is this?" "Look at it, sir. My heart tells me it was his!" "And so you suppose there was never but one sailor's jacket with ivory
buttons on the wrist in the world, and never any one who wore one, but
Mark Ingestrie?" "Nay, the place in which it was found brings conviction." "Not at all. Do you forget there was such a person as Thornhill in the
world, Johanna?" "No; but why will every one persist in fancying Thornhill and Ingestrie
to be two persons, when I am convinced they were but one? Let who will
identify this as part of Thornhill's apparel, and I will weep for Mark." "I cannot just now shake this supposition." "You never will." "If I live I will, Johanna, I give you my word for so much. Pray who is
the best to judge of such things? You, a young girl who have seen little
or nothing of the world, and whose natural apprehension is rendered
obscure by the conflict of your affections, or I whose business it is to
come to an accurate conclusion of such matters? I repeat my conviction,
that Thornhill was not Mark Ingestrie." "Oh, if I could think so!" "You will." "You have no doubt, sir, but Thornhill perished by the hand of Todd?" "None whatever." Johanna looked deeply affected. "Come," added Sir Richard, "you want both rest and refreshment, and you
can have both here at this house. To-morrow I hope will end all your
trials, my dear girl, and I shall live, I trust, to see you smile as you
ought to smile, and to be as happy as only a very dim recollection of
the past will make you." "Ah, no--never happy." "You must love some one. You must recover, and in the cares and joys of
a new existence, you must only look back upon what has passed, as though
you pondered upon the phantasma of some fearful dream; and when you see
all around you smiling--"

"It will be cruel for them to smile, sir; and it is now cruel of you to
speak to me of loving another, when you know my affections are with
Ingestrie, in that world to which he has gone before me, but to which I
look forward to as the place of our happy meeting, where we shall part
again no more." "Well, I thought I could find you a lover that would be to your mind
when all these affairs were over." "Sir?" "Nay, be not offended. You know I am your sincere friend." "I know you are, and that is what makes it so grievous to me to hear you
talk in such a strain, sir." "Then I will say no more."