The effect of the opiate was
rapid, and after some inarticulate moans and vain attempts to spring
from the bed, a deep sleep came over poor Tobias. "Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Chisolm, "I beg to inform you that this is a
bad case." "I feared as much." "A very bad case. Some very serious shock indeed has been given to the
lad's brain, and if he at all recovers from it, he will be a long time
doing so. I do not think those violent paroxysms will continue, but they
may leave a kind of fatuity behind them which may be exceedingly
difficult to grapple with." "In that case, he will not be able to give me the information I desire,
and all I can do is to take care that he is kindly treated somewhere,
poor lad. Poor fellow, his has been a hard lot. He evidently has a mind
of uncommon sensibility, as is manifest from his ravings." "Yes, and that makes the case worse. However, we must hope for the best,
and I will call again in the morning." "Will he awake soon?" "Not for six or eight hours at least, and when he does, it is very
unlikely that those paroxysms will again ensue. He will be quiet
enough." "Then it will be scarcely necessary, during that time, to watch him,
poor fellow?" "Not at all. Of course, when he awakens it will be very desirable that
some one should be here to speak to him; for, finding himself in a
strange place, he will otherwise naturally be terrified." All this was promised by the colonel, and the medical man left the
house, evidently with very slender hopes in his own mind of the recovery
of Tobias. The colonel and his friend retired to another room, and then,
after a consultation, they agreed that it was highly proper they should
inform Sir Richard Blunt of what had taken place, for although poor
Tobias was in no present condition to give any information, yet his
capture, if it might be called by such a term, was so important an event
that it would be unpardonable to keep it from the magistrate. They
accordingly went together to his house, and luckily finding him at home,
they at once communicated to him their errand. He listened to them with
the most profound attention, and when they had concluded, he said--

"Gentlemen, it will be everything, if this lad recovers sufficiently to
be a witness against his rascal of a master, for that is just what we
want. However, from the account you give me of him, I am very much
afraid the poor fellow's mind is too severely affected." "That, too, is our fear." "Well, we must do the best we can, and I should advise that when he
awakens some one should be by him with whose voice, as a friendly sound,
he will be familiar." "Who can we get?" "His poor mother." "Ah, yes, I will set about that at once." "Leave it to me," said Sir Richard Blunt, "leave that to me--I know
where to find Mrs. Ragg, and what's best to say to her in the case. Let
me see, in about four hours from now probably Tobias may be upon the
point of recovery." "Most probably." "Then, sir, expect me at your house in that time with Mrs. Ragg. I will
take care that the old lady's mind is put completely at ease, so that
she will aid us in any respect to bring about the recovery of her son,
who no doubt has suffered severely from some plan of Todd's to put him
out of the way. That seems to me to be the most likely solution to the
mystery of his present condition." "Todd, I am convinced," said Colonel Jeffery, "would stop at no
villany." "Certainly not. My own belief is, that he is so steeped to the lips in
crime, that he sees no other mode of covering his misdeeds already done
than by the commission of new ones. But his career is nearly at an end,
gentlemen." The colonel and the captain took the rising of the magistrate from his
chair as a polite hint that he had something else to do than to gossip
with them any longer, and they took their leave, after expressing again
to him how much they appreciated his exertions. "If the mystery of the fate of my unhappy friend," said the colonel, "is
ever cleared up, it will be by your exertion, Sir Richard, and he and I,
and society at large, will owe to you a heavy debt of gratitude for
unmasking so horrible a villain as Sweeney Todd, for that he is such no
one can doubt." CHAPTER XXXIII. JOHANNA WALKS ABROAD IN DISGUISE. But, amid all the trials, and perplexities, and anxieties that beset the
dramatis personæ of our story, who suffered like Johanna? What heart
bled as hers bled? What heart heaved with sad emotion as hers heaved? Alas! poor Johanna, let the fate of Mark Ingestrie be what it might, he
could not feel the pangs that tore thy gentle heart. Truly might she
have said--

    "Man's love is of his life a thing apart
    'Tis woman's whole existence,"

for she felt that her joy--her life itself, was bartered for the
remembrance of how she had been loved by him whose fate was involved in
one of the most painful and most inscrutable of mysteries. Where could
she seek for consolation, where for hope? The horizon of her young life
seemed ever darkening, and the more she gazed upon it with the fond hope
of singing--

    "The first faint star of coming joy,"

the more confounded her gentle spirit became by the blackness of
despair. It is sad indeed that the young, the good, and the gentle,
should be the grand sufferers in this world, but so it is. The exquisite
capacity to feel acutely is certain to find ample food for agony. If
human nature could wrap itself up in the chill mantle of selfishness,
and be perfectly insensible to all human feeling, it might escape, but
such cannot be done by those who, like the fine and noble-minded Johanna
Oakley, sympathise with all that is beautiful and great in creation. Already the pangs of hope deferred were feeding upon the damask of her
cheeks. The lily had usurped the rose, and although still exquisitely
beautiful, it was the pale beauty of a statue that she began to show to
those who loved her. In the street people would turn to gaze after her
with admiration blended with pity. They already looked upon her as half
an angel, for already it seemed as though she had shaken off much of her
earthly lurements, and was hastening to

    "Rejoin the stars." [Illustration: The Schoolfellows, Johanna And Arabella.] Let us look at her as she lies weeping upon the breast of her friend
Arabella Wilmot. The tears of the two young girls are mingling together,
but the one is playing the part of comforter, while the other mourns
over much. "Now, Johanna," sobbed Arabella, "you talk of doing something to save
Mark Ingestrie, if he be living, or to bring to justice the man whom you
suspect to be his murderer. Let me ask you what you can hope to do, if
you give way to such an amount of distress as this?" "Nothing--nothing." "And are you really to do nothing? Have you not agreed, Johanna, to make
an attempt, in the character of a boy, to find out the secret of
Ingestrie's disappearance, and have not I provided for you all that you
require to support the character?