Todd could, of course, from where he was, hear, with the
greatest clearness and precision, every word that they said to each
other, as they walked up the aisle. [Illustration: Todd Sets Fire To His House, Then Hides Himself In St.
Dunstan's Pulpit.] One of the persons who were coming with the beadle to view the fire from
the tower of the church went on speaking to his companions. "And so," he said, "I think, if no one be hurt, and the fire can be kept
just within the limits of Todd's house, it will be no bad thing to have
a place that is such a continual reminder of atrocious guilt, swept from
the face of the earth." "Yes," said the other, "the only pity is, that Sweeney Todd is not in it
to go with it. Then the good thing would be complete." "It would, gentlemen," said the beadle. "Oh, when you comes to think of
what he did and what he might have done--Oh, it makes my hair stand o'
end, and my parochial blood curdle, to think of what he might have done,
gentlemen." "He could not do worse than he did." "Not _wus_? not _wus_? Oh,--oh!" "How is it possible? He committed a number of murders, and if you can
find me anything worse he could have done, I shall indeed be very much
surprised." "Gentlemen, he might have polished _me_ off. That's what he might have
done, for he has actually had me hold of by the nose. Oh, conwulsions! if I had only then thought that there was a chance of his polishing off,
as he used to call it, a parochial authority, I should have--I should
have--"

"What, Mr. Beadle?" "_Flewed_ through the window, sir, that's what I should have done, and
told the world at large what had happened." "Well, certainly, that would have been something." "Everything," said the other gentleman, in a tone of voice that showed
how much he was inclined to enjoy a joke at the expense of the beadle. "It would have been everything. But how plain you can hear the roaring
of the flames now, even in this church, with the door shut." "You can, indeed," said the other. "Ah, there dashes past another
engine. Come, Mr. Beadle, the sooner we get on this tower the better." "In a minute, gentlemen; but now as you is here arter the blessed old
church has been shut up all night, I jest ask you to say if it has the
_orrid_ smell as it used to have, which offended the holy nose of the
bishop when he came to confirm the people." "I smell nothing." "Nor I." "Very good; then that's so far satisfactory. Cos you see, sirs, only
yesterday Sir Christopher Wren and two gentlemen come and left in the
church a pailful of chemists, for the express purpose of taking away the
smell." "A what?" "A pailful of chemists." "Of chemicals, you mean, I suppose, although that would be a singularly
inappropriate term. But come on, Mr. Beadle, we are very anxious to get
on the tower." "This way, gentlemen, if you pleases. This will lead you nicely and
fairly up those little stairs and right on. Oh, what a world we does
live in, to be sure!" With this general philosophical remark, the beadle, opening a little
door at the extremity of the south aisle, pushed his friends up a narrow
staircase that led to the top of the tower of old St. Dunstan's, and
from which certainly a very good view of the surrounding streets and of
the Temple could be obtained; and in the clear light of early morning,
before the million fires in London were lighted, that view was seen to
be a tolerably distinct one. Todd muttered the bitterest maledictions upon them, as he heard them go
up the little stairs. There he was, certainly, to all appearance, safe enough; and he might,
for all he knew, be safe enough until the next Sunday; but how was he to
live in a pulpit even for the whole of a day? It might be that he would
have to wait there until the dim shadows of the night should come again,
and wrap up the whole church in gloom; but how many weary hours must
pass before that time would come, and what infinite danger there was,
that he might drop into sleep after all his fatigues, and so forget his
caution, and discover himself! Already the great fatigues he had passed through, and the many hours he
had been debarred from rest, began to tell upon him; and it was with
difficulty that he kept himself from dropping into slumber. He began to
get fearfully alarmed at his situation. "What shall I do?" he said, "I must escape--escape! Yes. How the fire
roars! I will not sleep. Oh, no--no! It is done now; the old house is
gone--gone!" Todd fell fast asleep in the pulpit. CHAPTER CLI. SHIFTS THE SCENE TO ONE OF QUIET GOODNESS AND SERENITY. The necessities of our story force us for a short space of time to leave
Sweeney Todd in the pulpit of St. Dunstan's Church, and his house in
process of demolition by fire, while we take the reader back again to
Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, where the Ingestries resided in such loving and
pleasant union. The communication that Sir Richard Blunt had made to them, had had the
effect of disturbing the serenity of Mark Ingestrie to a much greater
extent than he would have liked to admit, or than he was at all likely
to let Johanna know. She, too, the fair and gentle Johanna, felt an acute pang as she thought
on the stern, revengeful character of Todd; and began to fancy, that if
he wished to work her any woe, he would take a means of doing so which
would touch her much more severely than as if he aimed at her own life,
by attacking that of her husband, to whom, after so many perils, she was
at length so very happily united. "Oh, Mark," she said, "you will, you must promise me that you will
depart at once from here." "We will be gone directly, Johanna. But who have we here? Why, there is
an arrival already. I will go and see who it is. It is some one in a
coach." "Oh, no--no, Mark, do not go." "Not go?" "No. You do not know but it may be some horrible scheme of that fiend in
the shape of man, Todd, to lure you to the door, and kill you. I am full
of fears, Mark, and cannot bear to let you go from my sight a moment." "Oh, Johanna, this is unlike you, indeed. There now, look from the
window, dear, and you will soon see how little you have to fear. Why,
it's your father and your mother. Do you not see them, or does your
tears, and your fears together, blind you?" "A little of both, Mark," said Johanna, with a faint smile; "but I see
that my dear father is there, and my mother, too. I will fly to welcome
them. They have heard of the escape of Todd, and cannot endure to have
us out of their sight." As Johanna spoke, she hurried to the door to receive Mr. and Mrs.
Oakley. The old man caught her in his arms, as he said--

"Oh, my own dear child! Thank God I see you safe again!" "Safe, father?" "Yes, my darling. You know that dreadful man?--that--that--Oh, I don't
know what to call--"

"The horrid Todd," put in Mrs. Oakley, as she kissed Johanna. "He has
escaped, my dear, from Newgate; but, of course, Sir Richard Blunt has
been here to tell you, as he said he would; so you know all about it." "Oh, yes--yes.