She walked unsuspectingly
into the parlour, and as Mr. Lupin was sitting, the slightest movement
of his chair closed the door, so she could not escape. Under any other
circumstances probably Johanna would have insisted upon leaving the
apartment; but a glance at the countenance of the pious individual was
quite sufficient to convince her that he had been sacrificing
sufficiently to Bacchus to be capable of any amount of effrontery, so
that she dreaded passing him, more especially as he swayed his arms
about like the sails of a windmill. She thought at least that when her
mother returned she would rescue her; but in that hope she was mistaken,
and Johanna had no more idea of the extent to which religious fanaticism
will carry its victim, than she had of the manners and customs of the
inhabitants of the moon. When Mrs. Oakley did return, she had some
difficulty in getting into the apartment, inasmuch as Mr. Lupin's chair
occupied so large a portion of it; but when she did obtain admission,
and Johanna said--

"Mother, I beg of you to protect me against this man, and allow me a
free passage from the apartment!" Mrs. Oakley affected to lift up her hands in amazement, as she said--

"How dare you speak so disrespectfully of a chosen vessel? How dare you,
I say, do such a thing--it's enough to drive any one mad to see the
young girls now-a-days!" "Don't snub her--don't snub the virgin," said Mr. Lupin; "she don't know
the honour yet that's intended her." "She don't deserve it," said Mrs. Oakley, "she don't deserve it." "Never mind, madam--never mind; we--we--we don't get all what we deserve
in this world." "Take a drop of something, Mr. Lupin; you have got the hiccups." "Yes; I--I rather think I have a little. Isn't it a shame that anybody
so intimate with the Lord should have the hiccups? What a lot of lights
you have got burning, Mrs. Oakley!" "A lot of lights, Mr. Lupin! Why, there is only one; but perhaps you
allude to the lights of the gospel?" "No; I--I don't, just at present; damn the lights of the gospel--that is
to say, I mean damn all backsliders! But there is a lot of lights, and
no mistake, Mrs. Oakley. Give me a drop of something, I'm as dry as
dust." "There is some more mulled wine, Mr. Lupin; but I am surprised that you
think there is more than one light." "It's a miracle madam, in consequence of my great faith. I have faith in
s--s--s--six lights, and here they are." "Do you see that, Johanna?" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, "are you not
convinced now of the holiness of Mr. Lupin?" "I am convinced of his drunkenness, mother, and entreat of you to let me
leave the room at once." "Tell her of the honour," said Mr. Lupin--"tell her of the honour." "I don't know, Mr. Lupin; but don't you think it would be better to take
some other opportunity?" "Very well, then, this is the opportunity." "If it's your pleasure, Mr. Lupin, I will. You must know, then, Johanna,
that Mr. Lupin has been kind enough to consent to save my soul, on
condition that you marry him, and I am quite sure you can have no
reasonable objection; indeed, I think it's the least you can do, whether
you have any objection or not." "Well put," said Mr. Lupin, "excellently well put." "Mother," said Johanna, "if you are so far gone in superstition, as to
believe this miserable drunkard ought to come between you and heaven, I
am so lost as not to be able to reject the offer with more scorn and
contempt than ever I thought I could have entertained for any human
being; but hypocrisy never, to my mind, wears so disgusting a garb as
when it attires itself in the outward show of religion." "This conduct is unbearable," cried Mrs. Oakley; "am I to have one of
the Lord's saints under my own roof?" "If he were ten times a saint, mother, instead of being nothing but a
miserable, drunken profligate, it would be better that he should be
insulted ten times over, than that you should permit your own child to
have passed through the indignity of having to reject such a proposition
as that which has just been made. I must claim the protection of my
father; he will not suffer one, towards whom he has ever shown an
affection, the remembrance of which sinks deep into my heart, to meet
with so cruel an insult beneath his roof." "That's right, my dear," cried Mr. Oakley, at that moment pushing open
the parlour-door. "That's right, my dear; you never spoke truer words in
all your life." A faint scream came from Mrs. Oakley, and the Rev. Mr. Lupin immediately
seized upon the fresh jug of mulled wine, and finished it at a draught. "Get behind me, Satan," he said. "Mr. Oakley, you will be damned if you
say a word to me." "It's all the same, then," said Mr. Oakley; "for I'll be damned if I
don't. Then, Ben! Ben! come--come in, Ben." "I'm a coming," said a deep voice, and a man about six feet four inches
in height, and nearly two-thirds of that amount in width, entered the
parlour. "I'm a coming, Oakley, my boy. Put on your blessed spectacles,
and tell me which is the fellow." "I could have sworn it," said Mrs. Oakley, as she gave the table a knock
with her fist,--"I could have sworn when you came in, Oakley--I could
have sworn, you little snivelling, shrivelled-up wretch, you'd no more
have dared to come into this parlour as never was with those words in
your mouth, than you'd have dared to have flown, if you hadn't had your
cousin, Big Ben, the beef-eater, from the Tower, with you." "Take it easy, ma'am," said Ben, as he sat down in a chair, which
immediately broke all to pieces with his weight. "Take it easy, ma'am;
the devil--what's this?" "Never mind, Ben," said Mr. Oakley, "it's only a chair; get up." "A cheer," said Ben; "do you call that a cheer? but never mind--take it
easy." "Why, you big, bullying, idle, swilling and guttling ruffian!" "Go on, marm, go on." "You good-for-nothing lump of carrion; a dog wears his own coat, but you
wear your master's, you great stupid, overgrown, lurking hound. You
parish-brought-up wild beast, go and mind your lions and elephants in
the Tower, and don't come into honest people's houses, you cut-throat,
bullying, pickpocketing wretch." "Go on, marm, go on." This was a kind of dialogue that could not last, and Mrs. Oakley sank
down exhausted, and then Ben said--

"I tell you what, marm, I considers you--I looks upon you, marm, as a
female wariety of that ere animal as is very useful and sagacious,
marm." There was no mistake in this allusion, and Mrs. Oakley was about to make
some reply, when the Rev. Mr. Lupin rose from his chair, saying--

"Bless you all! I think I'll go home." "Not yet, Mr. Tulip," said Ben; "you had better sit down again--we've
got something to say to you." "Young man, young man, let me pass. If you do not, you will endanger
your soul." "I aint got none," said Ben; "I'm only a beef-eater, and don't pretend
to such luxuries." "The heathen!" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, "the horrid heathen! but there's
one consolation, and that is, that he will be fried in his own fat for
everlasting."