"It's this mug, sir," said Charley. "I dropped it." "Well--well, my dear, don't mind that. Accidents, you know, will happen;
bless you." Todd, as he said this, caught up a small piece of Charley's hair in his
finger and thumb, and gave it a terrific pinch. Poor Johanna with
difficulty controlled her tears. "Now, sir, be seated if you please. From the country, I suppose, sir?" "Yes. A clean shave, if you please. We comed up from Barkshire, both on
us, with beasts." "You and your brother, sir?" "My cousin, t'other'un is; ain't you Bill?" "Yes, to be sure." "Now, Charley, the soap dish. Look alive--look alive, my little man,
will you?" "Yes, sir." "You must excuse him being rather slow, gentlemen, but he's not used to
the business yet, poor boy--no father, no mother, no friend in all the
world but me, sir." "Really!" "Yes, poor lad, but thank God I have a heart--Leave the whiskers as they
are, sir?--Yes, and I can feel for the distresses of a fellow creature. Many's the--Your brother--I beg pardon, cousin, will be shaved likewise,
sir?--pound I have given away in the name of the Lord. Charley, will you
look alive with that soap dish. A pretty boy, sir; is he not?" "Very. His complexion is like--like a pearl." Johanna dropped the soap dish, and clasped her hands over her eyes. That
word "pearl" had for the moment got the better of her. CHAPTER LXIX. TAKES A PEEP AT ARABELLA. We regret to leave Johanna in such a predicament, but the progress and
due understanding of our tale compel us briefly to revert to some
proceedings of Arabella Wilmot, a short detail of which can nowhere come
in so well as at this juncture. Up to the moment of parting with
Johanna, when the latter went upon her perilous interprise, Arabella had
kept up pretty well, but from that moment her spirits began to fail. All
the romantic feelings which had at first prompted the advice that
concentrated Johanna's expedition to Todd's, evaporated before the hard
truthful fact that she, Arabella, had led her young friend into a
situation of the greatest peril. Each moment added to the mental agony
of the young girl; and at length her sufferings became too acute for
further dallying with, and wringing her hands, all she could ask herself
was--

"What shall I do to save her?--What shall I do to save her?" Arabella felt that it would kill her to endure the suspense of one hour
instead of four-and-twenty; but to whom was she to turn in this sad
condition of her feelings? If she went to old Mr. Oakley, what could she
expect but the greatest reproaches for leading one so dear to him into
such a path of danger; and those reproaches would not be the less
stinging on account, probably, of their being only implied, and not
spoken. If she appealed to her own friends, it would only be a kind of
second-hand mode of appealing to Mr. Oakley, for they, of courses, would
go to him. "Oh, wretched girl that I am," she cried, as she wrung her hands. "What
shall I do?--What ought I to do?" It was very improbable that, in the midst of such a state of feeling as
this, Arabella Wilmot should think of the wisest and best thing to do;
and yet strange to say, she did. By mere accident the name of Sir
Richard Blunt came to her mind. She had heard Colonel Jeffery speak of
him; and from common report, too, she knew he was a man who, of all
others, was likely, from inclination as well as power and duty, to aid
her. The idea of going to him gained strength and consistency each
moment in her mind, as good ideas will. "Yes--yes!" she exclaimed, as with frantic eagerness she arrayed herself
for the event, for she had gone home after seeing Johanna on her way;
"yes--yes! I will go to him--I will tell him all. He shall know what a
silly, foolish, wicked girl I have been, and how by my mad--mad council,
I have perhaps destroyed Johanna. But he will save her--oh, yes, he will
save her from the consequences of the visit to Todd, and save me from
madness." Now, a more decidedly prudent resolve than this could not possibly have
been aimed at by Arabella, had she been as cool and collected; as, on
the contrary, she was nervous and excited, and it had all the effect
upon her mind; for it was astonishing how the mere feeling that she was
about to take a good course calmed her down. She had the prudence to
interpose no delays by speaking to any one of her intention; but hastily
getting into the street, she ran on for some time without reflecting
that she had but a very vague idea of where Sir Richard Blunt was to be
found. It is astonishing how, under the passions of extraordinary
circumstances, people will boldly do things which ordinarily they would
shrink from. It was so with Arabella Wilmot. She walked into a shop, and
at once asked if they could tell her the exact address of Sir Richard
Blunt, the magistrate. "Yes, it is at No. 6, Essex Street, Strand." Off she went again. Fleet Street was passed. True, she lingered a little
opposite to Todd's shop, and the idea came across her of rushing in, and
saying, "Johanna, come away." But she controlled that feeling, from a
conviction that she was doing better by going to the magistrate, who, if
it were necessary to take that course, could take it much more
effectually than she could. Essex Street was gained, and Arabella's
trembling hand sounded an alarm upon the knocker. "Is Sir Richard within?" "No. But if you particularly want him, he is at his private office in
Craven Street." To Craven Street then she sped. The number she had been told was 10, and
upon the door of that house being opened, she asked a man who was big
enough to block up all the passage, and who did so, for the magistrate. "Yes, but you can't see him. He's busy." "I must." "But you can't, my dear." "I will." The man whistled. "Will is a short word, my dear, for you to use. How do you mean to do
it, eh?" A door opened, and with his hat on, ready to go out, Sir Richard Blunt
himself appeared. Another minute and Arabella would have missed him, and
then God knows where, for the next twelve hours, he would be. "What is this, Davis?" he said. "Here's a little 'un, says she will see you, Sir Richard." "Ah, thank God!" cried Arabella, rushing forward and catching a tight
hold of the magistrate by the arm. "Yes, I will see you, sir; I have a
matter of life and death to speak to you of." "Walk in," said Sir Richard. "Don't hurry yourself in the least, Miss. Pray be composed; I am quite at your disposal." Arabella followed him into a small room. She still kept close to him,
and in her eagerness she placed her hand upon her breast, as she said--

"Sir--sir. You--and you only. Todd, Todd--oh, God! he will kill her, and
I am more her murderer than he. Johanna--Johanna, my poor Johanna!" Sir Richard slightly changed colour at the sound of those names; and
then he said, calmly and slowly--

"I don't think, unless you can assume a greater command of your
feelings, that you will ever be able to tell me what you came about." "Oh, yes--yes."