"Then all I have to do is, by deeds, to convince you that I am sincere
in my feelings towards you. As I have before said, I am in the power of
another, and therefore is it that, contrary to my nature, I may seem to
do cruel things at which my heart revolts." "I cannot conceive anything so distressing," said the cook, "except
being the unfortunate victim as I am of such a train of circumstances." "That is what I am coming to." "Are you? I wish you were." There was a tone of irony about the enforced cook which Mrs. Lovett did
not at all like; but she had an object to gain, and that was to fully
persuade him that the shortest way to his freedom would be to remain
profoundly quiet for a day or two, and then she would be able to make
her own arrangements and be off without troubling either him or Todd
with any news of her departure or her whereabouts. "You still doubt me," she said. "But listen, and I think you will soon
be of opinion that although I have wronged you as yet, I can do
something to repair that wrong." "I am all attention, madam." "Then, in the first place, you are quite tired of eating pies, and must
have some other kind of food." "You never said a truer thing in all your life, madam." "That other food, then, I will provide for you. You shall, within an
hour from now, have anything to eat or to drink that you may please to
name. Speak, what is it to be?" "Well," he said, "that is kind indeed. But I can do without food further
than I have here, for I have hit upon a mode of making cakes that please
me. Nevertheless, if you can bring me a bottle of brandy, in order that
I may slightly qualify the water that I drink, I shall be obliged to
you." "You shall have it; and now I hope you will be convinced of the
sincerity of my desire to be of service to you." "But my liberty, madam, my liberty. That is the grand thing after all
that I must ever pant for." "True, and that is what you shall have at my hands. In the course of
two, or it may be three days, I shall have perfected some arrangements
which will enable me to throw open your prison for you, and then--"

"Then what?" "May I hope that you will not think so harshly of me as you have done?" "Certainly not." "Then I shall be repaid for all I do. You must believe me to be the
victim of the most cruel circumstances, of which some day you may be
informed. At present, to do so, would only be to involve both you and
myself in one common destruction." "Then don't mention it." "I will not. But beware of one thing." "What is that?" "Simply this, that any attempts upon your own part to escape from here
previous to the time when I shall have completed my arrangements to set
you free, will not only derange all that I am planning for you, but end
in your utter destruction; for he who has forced me into my present
cruel situation will not for one moment hesitate at the murder of us
both; so if you wish to be free in a few days you will try nothing, but
if on the contrary you wish to destroy both yourself and me, you will
make some attempts to rescue yourself from here." Mrs. Lovett waited rather anxiously for his answer to this speech. "I dare say you are right," he said at length. "You may be assured I am." "Then I consent." Mrs. Lovett drew a long breath of relief, as she muttered to herself--

"It will do--I have him in the toils; and come what may, I am free from
the torturing thought that he may achieve something that may have the
effect of delivering me up to the hands of justice. When I am gone, he
may remain where he is, and rot for all I care." --"You have done
wisely," she said aloud, "and if anything could more powerfully than
another incite me to the greatest exertions to liberate you, it would be
the handsome manner in which you have placed confidence in me." "Oh, don't mention it." Again there was that tone of sarcasm about the cook's voice, which
created a doubt in the mind of Mrs. Lovett if, after all, he was not
merely playing with her, and in his heart utterly disregarding all that
she said to him. It is quite questionable if this doubt was not in its
bitterness worse than the former anxieties that had preyed upon the mind
of the lady; but she found she could do nothing to put an end to it, so
she merely said--

"Well, I feel much happier now; so I will go at once and get you the
brandy that you ask for." "I hope he will drink it freely--it will aid
him in drowning reflection." "Thank you," said the cook, "I shall expect it with impatience." "Confound her, she can't very well put anything queer in the brandy. I
will take care to taste a very small portion of it first; for Sir
Richard Blunt has cautioned me particularly to be careful of poison." "I am going," said Mrs. Lovett. "Good-bye, madam; I only hope you will be able to carry your benevolent
intentions into effect--and," added the cook to himself, "that I may
some fine morning have the pleasure of seeing you hanged." "Farewell," said Mrs. Lovett; and she, too, had her _aside_ as she
ascended the stairs, for she muttered--"If I were only a little better
assured than I am that you meditated something dangerous, I would steal
upon you while you slept, and with a knife soon put an end to all
trouble regarding you." [Illustration: Mrs. Lovett Alarmed At The Strange Faces At Her Window In
The Pie-Shop.] Now, it happened that when Mrs. Lovett reached her shop, she saw three
people outside the window. The actions of these people attracted her
observation. One was a big stout man, of such a size as was rarely seen
in the streets of London. The other was a young girl, nicely attired,
but with a look of great grief and agitation upon her countenance. The
third person of the group was a gentlemanly-looking man, attired in a
great coat which was buttoned up to his chin. The big stout man was
making a kind of movement towards the door of the pie-shop, and the
gentleman with the great-coat was holding up his hand and shaking his
head, as though forbidding him. The big stout man then looked angry; and
then Mrs. Lovett saw the young girl cling to him, and heard her say--

"Oh, no--no; I said I wanted nothing.--Come away." Then the gentleman with the great-coat pulled his collar down a little;
upon which the young girl sprang towards him, and, clasping his arm,
cried in tones of intense interest--

"Ah, sir, is it indeed you? Tell me is she saved--oh, is she saved?" "She will be," was the reply of the gentleman in the great-coat. "Come
away." The big stout man appeared to be getting rather furious at the idea of
the gentleman with the great-coat dictating what he and the young girl
should do; but she by a few words pacified him; and then, as if they
were the best friends in the world, they all walked away towards the
Strand, conversing very seriously and rapidly. "What does this mean?" said Mrs. Lovett. Terror overspread her countenance. Oh, conscience! conscience! how truly
dost thou make

    "Cowards of us all!"