She felt that by suddenly quitting the arm of Lupin, and making a rush
for it, she might escape him, but then she did not want him to escape
the consequences of his crime, for Mrs. Oakley had a woman's sympathy
with the fate even of the not very respectable Mrs. Lupin. Besides, with
all the vindictive hate that he might be supposed to feel upon finding
that his guilt was known, he might yet pursue her, and before she could
find aid, kill her. "I must still dissemble," she thought, "and speak this most monstrous
villain fairly." "Quite a charming morning, reverend sir," she said. "Very," said Lupin. "I really am afraid that I am sadly intruding upon your time, by letting
you come with me?" "Oh, no--no--no." He seemed to be getting very thoughtful, and Mrs. Oakley was
proportionably more and more upon her guard, for she felt convinced that
if he really thought she knew anything of his guilt he would kill her. Now they emerged from the court; but it was yet rather an early hour in
the morning, and but very few passengers were in the streets. The only
person that was tolerably close to them was an elderly woman, and Mrs.
Oakley much as she panted for an opportunity of separating herself from
Lupin, felt that the time to do so had not yet come. On they went, in the direction of Mrs. Oakley's house, that house that
she now began to feel she had so much neglected, to look after what, in
the language of scripture, might truly have been termed "Strange
Idols"--that home which she now looked to as a haven of safety from the
terror of death itself. "How silent you are, sister," said Lupin. "Yes, I was thinking." "Of what?" he said, fiercely. "Of how much I should be able to take from Mr. Oakley's till, to bring
to you, this day week." "Oh! oh!" "You may depend, reverend sir, it shall be as much as possible. Of
course I must be cautious, though." "Oh, yes--yes." They had now reached within a few paces of the corner of the street, and
yet Mrs. Oakley had seen no one upon whom, from their appearance, she
thought she could rely to call to for aid against the murderer. Suddenly
then round the corner, there came a bulky form. The heavy tread of some
one of unusual weight sounded upon the street pavement. Big Ben, the beef-eater, with his arms behind him, and in a very
thoughtful mood, came pacing slowly along. As Mrs. Oakley said afterwards, her heart, at that moment, was in her
mouth. She could not dissemble an instant longer with Lupin, but with a loud
shriek that echoed far and wide in the streets, she suddenly sprang from
him, crying--

"Ben, Ben, dear strong Ben, seize this man! He is a murderer!" "D--n! Done at last!" cried Lupin. He turned to fly, but treading upon a piece of cabbage-leaf that was
upon the pavement, down he fell. "Easy does it," said Ben, and he flung himself upon the top of Lupin,
spreading out his arms and legs, and holding him by sheer weight as
firmly to the pavement as though he had been nailed there. "Help, help, help! Murder! help!" shouted Mrs. Oakley. "Murder, murder,
murder!" People began to flock to them from all parts. Lupin succeeded in getting
a knife from his pocket, but Mrs. Oakley held him by the wrist with both
hands, and in a minute more he was in the grasp of two strong men, one
of whom was a police-officer, and who gloried in the job. CHAPTER CVIII. RETURNS TO MRS. LOVETT, AND SHOWS HOW SHE GOT OUT OF THE RIVER. Our readers have been aware for a long time past that Mrs. Lovett was no
common, everyday, sort of woman, and what we are about to relate
concerning her, will be further proof that way tending, if it should be
by any sceptical person in any way required. To all appearance, Todd had seen the last of her on the river. But Todd
was born to be deceived, and at the time he should have recollected an
old adage, to the effect that, folks who are born to be hanged are very
seldom drowned. We shall see. Mrs. Lovett did go down, but as fortune and the amazingly strong current
of the river would have it, she came up again, with a barge between her
and Todd, and involuntarily laying hold of the side of the barge, there
she remained, too exhausted to cry out, until Todd was far off. She was seen at last by a man who was at the window of a public-house,
and in the course of ten minutes after Todd had began to congratulate
himself upon the demise of Mrs. Lovett, she was in a warm bed at the
public-house, and her clothes drying at the kitchen-fire. She had scarcely been for a moment at all insensible; and as she lay in
bed she had a most accurate perception of all that happened. The reader
may suppose that the feelings of Mrs. Lovett towards Sweeney Todd, were
by no means ameliorated by the morning's proceedings. And yet how calculating she was in her rage! As the effects of her submersion wore off, and her ordinary strength
came back to her, her mind became intently fixed upon but one object,
and that was how to be completely and bitterly revenged upon Todd. "He shall hang," she said. "He shall hang, but I must think of the
means, while I likewise take care to avoid the gallows myself; but he
shall hang, let the consequences be what they may." The landlady of the public-house was very assiduous in her attention to
Mrs. Lovett, and while she was thus thinking of her revenge upon Todd,
she (the landlady) made her appearance in the room with a steaming glass
of mulled and spiced wine. "I hope you are better," she said; "and if you will give me the name and
address of your friends, I will send to them at once." "Friends!" said Mrs. Lovett. "How came you to think that I had any
friends?" "Well, I hardly thought you were without. Don't most folks have friends
of some sort or another?" "Ah, I had forgotten. I have a friend with me--a very dear friend, who
will not forsake me. I have more of them at home--for I have a home." "Oh," thought the landlady, "she is raving." "Bring me my stays," said Mrs. Lovett. The stays, which, together with the rest of her apparel, now had got
quite dry, was brought to her, and in a little secret pocket in them,
Mrs. Lovett dived with her two fingers, and found a damp five pound
note. "Take that," she said, "for your trouble. I do not want any change. Only
be so good now as to help me to dress, and tell me what the time is." "Three o'clock," said the landlady, "and I'm sure you can't think how
pleased I am that you are better. Do you really think you are strong
enough to go home yet?" "Yes. What I have to do at home will lend me strength, if I wanted it." Mrs. Lovett was soon dressed, and at her request a coach was sent for;
and in the course of half-an-hour from the time that the landlady had
asked her if she should send for her friends, she, Mrs. Lovett, was
bowling along the dense thoroughfares of the city to her home. What pen could describe the dark and malignant thoughts that filled her
brain as she proceeded?