did I indeed look my last upon that face, when on
this spot we parted?" "The uncertainty," said Colonel Jeffery, wishing to withdraw as much as
possible from a consideration of her own sorrows, "the uncertainty, too,
that prevails with regard to the fate of poor Mr. Thornhill, is a sad
thing. I much fear that those precious pearls he had, have been seen by
some one who has not scrupled to obtain possession of them by his
death." "Yes, it would seem so indeed; but what are pearls to me? Oh! would that
they had sunk to the bottom of that Indian sea, from whence they had
been plucked. Alas, alas! it has been their thirst for gain that has
produced all these evils. We might have been poor here, but we should
have been happy. Rich we ought to have been, in contentment; but now all
is lost, and the world to me can present nothing that is to be desired,
but one small spot large enough to be my grave." She leant upon the arm of the garden-seat, and gave herself up to such a
passion of tears that Colonel Jeffery felt he dared not interrupt her. There is something exceeding sacred about real grief which awes the
beholder, and it was with an involuntary feeling of respect that Colonel
Jeffery stepped a few paces off, and waited until that burst of agony
had passed away. It was during those brief moments that he overheard
some words uttered by one who seemed likewise to be suffering from that
prolific source of all affliction, disappointed affection. Seated at
some short distance was a maiden, and one not young enough to be called
a youth, but still not far enough advanced in existence to have had all
his better feelings crushed by an admixture with the cold world, and he
was listening while the maiden spoke. "It is the neglect," she said, "which touched me to the heart. But one
word spoken or written, one message of affection, to tell me that the
memory of a love I thought would be eternal, still lingered in your
heart, would have been a world of consolation; but it came not, and all
was despair." "Listen to me," said her companion, "and if ever in this world you can
believe that one who truly loves can be cruel to be kind, believe that I
am that one. I yielded for a time to the fascination of a passion which
should never have found a home within my heart; but yet it was far more
of a sentiment than a passion, inasmuch as never for one moment did an
evil thought mingle with its pure aspirations. "It was a dream of joy, which for a time obliterated a remembrance that
ought never to have been forgotten; but when I was rudely awakened to
the fact that those whose opinions were of importance to your welfare
and your happiness knew nothing of love, but in its grossest aspect, it
became necessary at once to crush a feeling, which, in its continuance,
could shadow forth nothing but evil." "You may not imagine, and you may never know--for I cannot tell the
heart-pangs that it has cost me to persevere in a line of conduct which
I felt was due to you--whatever heart-pangs it might cost me. I have
been content to imagine that your affection would turn to indifference,
perchance to hatred; that a consciousness of being slighted would arouse
in your defence all a woman's pride, and that thus you would be lifted
above regret. Farewell for ever! I dare not love you honestly and truly;
and better is it thus to part than to persevere in a delusive dream that
can but terminate in degradation and sadness." "Do you hear those words?" whispered Colonel Jeffery to Johanna. "You
perceive that others suffer, and from the same cause, the perils of
affection." "I do. I will go home, and pray for strength to maintain my heart
against this sad affliction." "The course of true love never yet ran smooth; wonder not, therefore,
Johanna Oakley, that yours has suffered such a blight. It is the great
curse of the highest and noblest feelings of which humanity is capable,
that while, under felicitous circumstances, they produce to us an
extraordinary amount of happiness; when anything adverse occurs, they
are most prolific sources of misery. Shall I accompany you?" Johanna felt grateful for the support of the colonel's arm towards her
own home, and as they passed the barber's shop they were surprised to
see that the dog and the hat were gone. CHAPTER VII. THE BARBER AND THE LAPIDARY. It is night; and a man, one of the most celebrated lapidaries in London,
but yet a man frugal withal, although rich, is putting up the shutters
of his shop. This lapidary is an old man; his scanty hair is white, and his hands
shake as he secures the fastenings, and then, over and over again, feels
and shakes each shutter, to be assured that his shop is well secured. This shop of his is in Moorfields, then a place very much frequented by
dealers in bullion and precious stones. He was about entering his door,
just having cast a satisfied look upon the fastening of his shop, when a
tall, ungainly-looking man stepped up to him. This man had a
three-cornered hat, much too small for him, perched upon the top of his
great hideous-looking head, while the coat he wore had ample skirts
enough to have made another of ordinary dimensions. Our readers will have no difficulty in recognising Sweeney Todd, and
well might the little old lapidary start as such a very
unprepossessing-looking personage addressed him. "You deal," he said, "in precious stones." "Yes, I do," was the reply; "but it's rather late. Do you want to buy or
sell?" "To sell." "Humph! Ah, I dare say it's something not in my line; the only order I
get is for pearls, and they are not in the market." "And I have nothing but pearls to sell," said Sweeney Todd; "I mean to
keep all my diamonds, my garnets, topazes, brilliants, emeralds, and
rubies." "The deuce you do! Why, you don't mean to say you have any of them? Be
off with you! I am too old to joke with, and am waiting for my supper." "Will you look at the pearls I have?" "Little seed pearls, I suppose; they are of no value, and I don't want
them, we have plenty of those. It's real, genuine, large pearls we want. Pearls worth thousands." "Will you look at mine?" "No; good night!" "Very good; then I will take them to Mr. Coventry up the street. He
will, perhaps, deal with me for them if you cannot." The lapidary hesitated. "Stop," he said; "what's the use of going to Mr.
Coventry? he has not the means of purchasing what I can pay present cash
for. Come in, come in; I will, at all events, look at what you have for
sale." Thus encouraged, Sweeney Todd entered the little, low, dusky shop, and
the lapidary having procured a light, and taken care to keep his
customer outside the counter, put on his spectacles, and said--

"Now, sir, where are your pearls?" "There," said Sweeney Todd, as he laid a string of twenty-four pearls
before the lapidary. The old man's eyes opened to an enormous width, and he pushed his
spectacles right upon his forehead as he glared in the face of Sweeney
Todd with undisguised astonishment.