The wood-house was a
miserable-looking hole enough, and Tobias at once thought that the door
of it was fastened, but by a little pressure it came open; it had only
stuck through the dampness of the woodwork at that low point of the
garden. And now they were certainly both of them at liberty, with the
exception of surmounting the wall, which rose frowningly before him in
all its terrors. There was a fine cool fresh air in the garden, which
was indeed most grateful to the senses of Tobias, and he seemed doubly
nerved for anything that might be required of him after inhaling that
delicious, cool fresh breeze. There grew close to the wall one of those
beautiful mountain-ash trees, which bend over into such graceful
foliage, and which are so useful in the formation of pretty
summer-houses. Tobias saw that if he ascended to the top of this tree
there would not be much trouble in getting from there to the wall. "We shall do it," he said, "we shall succeed." "Thank God, I hear you say so," replied his companion. Tobias tied one end of the long rope they had made of the quilt to his
waist, so that he might carry it up with him, and yet leave him free use
of his hands and feet, and then he commenced ascending the tree. In
three minutes he was on the wall. The moon shone sweetly. There was not
a tree or house in the vicinity that was not made beautiful now, in some
portions of it, by the sweet, soft light that poured down upon them,
Tobias could not resist pausing a moment to look around him on the
glorious scene; but the voice of her for whom he was bound to do all
that was possible, aroused him. "Oh, Tobias!" she said, "quick, quick--lower the rope; oh, quick!" "In a moment--in a moment," he cried. The top of the wall was here and there armed with iron spikes, and some
of these formed an excellent grappling place for the torn quilt. In the
course of another minute Tobias had his end of it secure. "Now," he said, "can you climb up by it, do you think? Don't hurry about
it. Remember, there is no alarm, and for all we know we have hours to
ourselves yet." "Yes, yes--oh, yes--thank God!" he heard her say. Tobias was not where he could, by any exertion of strength, render her
now the least assistance, and he watched the tightening of the frail
support by which she was gradually climbing to the top of the wall with
the most intense and painful interest that can be imagined. "I come--I come," she said, "I am saved." "Come slowly--for God's sake, do not hurry." "No, no." At this moment Tobias heard the frail rope giving way; there was a
tearing sound--it broke, and she fell. Lights, too, at that unlucky
moment, flashed from the house, and it was now evident an alarm had been
given. What could he do? if two could not be saved he might himself be
saved. He turned, and flung his feet over the wall; he hung by his hands
as low as he could, and then he dropped the remainder of the distance. He was hurt, but in a moment he sprang to his feet, for he felt that
safety could only lie in instant and rapid flight. The terror of pursuit
was so strong upon him that he forgot his bruises. *       *       *       *       *

"Thank Heaven," exclaimed Tobias, "I am at last free from that horrible
place. Oh, if I can but reach London now, I shall be safe; and as for
Sweeney Todd, let him beware, for a day of retribution for him cannot be
far off." So saying, Tobias turned his steps towards the city, and at a hard trot,
soon left Peckham Rye far behind him as he pursued his route. CHAPTER XXX. MRS. LOVETT'S COOK MAKES A DESPERATE ATTEMPT. There are folks who can and who will bow like reeds to the decrees of
evil fortune, and with a patient, ass-like placidity, go on bearing the
ruffles of a thankless world without complaining, but Mrs. Lovett's new
cook was not one of those. The more destiny seemed to say to him--"Be
quiet!" the more he writhed, and wriggled, and fumed, and could not be
quiet. The more fate whispered in his ears--"You can do nothing," the
more intent he was upon doing something, let it be what it might. And he
had a little something, in the shape of a respite too, now, for had he
not baked a batch of pies, and sent them up to the devouring fangs of
the lawyers' clerks in all their gelatinous, beauty and gushing
sweetness, to be devoured. To be sure he had, and therefore having, for
a space, obeyed the behests of his task-mistress, he could sit with his
head resting upon his hands and think. Thought! What a luxury! Where is
the Indian satrap--where the arch Inquisitor--where the grasping,
dishonest, scheming employer who can stop a man from thinking?--and as
Shakspeare, says of sleep,

    "From that sleep, what dreams may come?" so might he have said of thought,

    From that thought what acts may come? Now we are afraid that, in the first place, the cook, in spite of
himself, uttered some expression concerning Mrs. Lovett of neither an
evangelical or a polite character, and with these we need not trouble
the reader. They acted as a sort of safety-valve to his feelings, and
after consigning that fascinating female to a certain warm place, where
we may fancy everybody's pie might be cooked on the very shortest
notice, he got a little more calm. "What shall I do?--what shall I do?" Such was the rather vague question he asked of himself. Alas! how often
are those four simple words linked together, finding but a vain echo in
the over-charged heart. What shall I do? Ay, what!--small power had he
to do anything, except the quietest thing of all--that one thing which
Heaven in its mercy has left for every wretch to do if it so pleases
him--to die! But, somehow or another, a man upon the up-hill side of
life is apt to think he may do something rather than that, and our cook,
although he was about as desperate a cook as the world ever saw, did not
like yet to say die. Now, in that curious combination of passions,
impulses, and prejudices in the mind of this man it would be a hard case
if some scheme of action did not present itself, even in circumstances
of the greatest possible seeming depression, and so, after a time, the
cook did think of something to do. "Many of these pies," he said to himself, "are not eaten in the shop,
_ergo_ they are eaten out of the shop, and possibly at the respective
houses of the purchasers--what more feasible mode of disclosing my
position, and 'the secrets of my prison-house,' can there be than the
enclosing a note in one of Mrs. Lovett's pies?" After reviewing all the _pros_ and _cons_ of this scheme, there only
appeared a few little difficulties in the way, but, although they were
rather serious, they were not insurmountable. In the first place, it was
possible enough that the unfortunate pie in which the note might be
enclosed might be eaten in the shop, in which event the note might go
down the throat of some hungry lawyer's clerk, and it might be handed to
Mrs. Lovett, with a "God bless me, ma'am, what's this in the pie?"