"You can go to Lovett's, in Bell-yard, and get your dinner now. There's
two-pence for you, my lad, and if you have not yet tasted Mrs. Lovett's
pies, you will say when you do, that they are the most delicious things
in the whole world of cookery." "Shaved, if you please," said another man, walking into the shop, and
pouncing down upon a chair as though it were his own property. "Ah dear
me, I'm tired rather. Don't hurry yourself, Mr. Todd, I can wait while
you are doing what you have to do for that gentleman." "Charley," said Todd, with quite a sweet expression of face. "You need
not go just yet; I want the hot water. See to it." "Yes, sir." Todd then, in the most careful and business-like manner, proceeded to
take the measure of the gentleman's head for a "real head of hair," and
when he had finished, he said--

"Now, sir, if you will leave it all to me, I will match your hair to a
shade." "Match it?" "Yes, sir." "But that's just what I don't want. I have had my hair all cut off, and
am going to wear a wig, for the sole reason that I have got tired of the
old colour." "Well then, sir, what colour do you propose now?" "A few shades lighter than my own. But pray shave this gentleman, and I
will tell you how I wish it to look at my leisure." The man took a seat and crossed one leg over the other with the most
home sort of look in the world; and the one who had come in to be shaved
plumped into the shaving chair, and gave his chin a rub as though he
would say "I don't care how soon you begin." Todd smiled. "Charley, the lather." "Yes, sir. Here it is." "Here, my little man," said the gentleman in want of a wig. "If you can
tie a bow, just make one in front of my cravat.--A small one." The gentleman slipped a small piece of paper into Johanna's jacket
pocket. CHAPTER LXXII. ANOTHER VICTIM. Johanna started. "St. Dunstan's," said the stranger. "What?" said Todd. "St. Dunstan's last Sunday, I don't think was so highly-scented with the
flavour of the grave as usual." "Oh," said Todd. Johanna trembled, for certainly Todd looked suspicious, and yet what
could he have seen? Literally nothing, for he was so situated that the
slight action of the stranger, in putting the slip of paper into her
jacket-pocket, must have escaped him with all his watchfulness. She
gathered courage. Todd glanced at her, saying--

"What is the matter, Charley? you don't look well at all, my lad." "I am not very well, sir." "How sorry I am; I think, do you know, Charley,"--Todd was lathering the
man's face as he spoke--"that one of Mrs. Lovett's hot pies would be the
thing for you." "Very likely, sir." "Then, I think I can manage now to spare you." As he said this, Todd bent an eagle glance upon the gentleman who had
ordered the wig, and it seemed as if he doled out his words to Johanna
with a kind of reference to the movements of that personage. The
gentleman had found a hat-brush, and was carefully rubbing up his hat. "I do hope," he said, "that the wig will be as natural as possible." "Depend upon it, sir," said Todd. "I'll warrant if you look in here, and
try it on some day when there's no one here but you and I to set you
against it, you will never complain of it." "No doubt. Good morning." Todd made his best bow, accompanied by the flourish of his razor, that
made the man who was being shaved shrink again, as the reflected light
from its highly-polished blade flashed again in his eyes. "Now, Charley, I think you may go for your pie," added Todd, "and don't
hurry, for if anything is wrong with your stomach, that will only make
it worse, you know." "You are a good master to the lad," said the man who was lathered ready
for shaving. "I hope so, sir," said Todd. "With the help of Providence we all ought
to do our best in this world, and yet what a deal of wickedness and
suffering there is in it too." "Ah, there is." "I am sure, sir, it makes my heart bleed sometimes to think of the
amount of suffering that only twenty-four hours of this sad work-a-day
world sees. But I was always of a tender and sympathetic turn from my
cradle--yes from my cradle." Todd made here one of his specially horrible grimaces, which the man
happened to see in a glass opposite to him, the reflective focus of
which Todd had not calculated upon; and then as the sympathetic barber
stropped his razor, the man looked at him as though he would have
speculated upon how could such an article looked in a cradle. "Now, sir, a little to this side. Are you going, Charley?" "Yes, sir." "That will do, sir. I'll polish you off very shortly, indeed, sir. Are
you going, Charley?" Johanna darted from the shop, and the moment she got clear of it, she by
natural impulse drew the little slip of paper from her pocket, and read
upon it--

"Miss O. do not if you can help it leave any one alone in Todd's shop,
as circumstances may prevent us from always following his customers in;
but if you should be forced to leave while any one is there, knock at
No. 133 Fleet Street. This is from your friend R. B." "133?" said Johanna, as she glanced around her, "133? Ah, it is close at
hand. Here--here." The number was only a short distance from Todd's, and Johanna was making
her way to it, when some one stopped her. "From Todd's," said a voice. "Yes--yes. A man is there." "Alone?" "Yes, and--"

Before she could say another word the stranger darted from her, and made
his way into Todd's shop. Johanna paused, and shrinking into a doorway,
stood trembling like an aspen leaf. "Oh, Heaven!" she ejaculated, "into what a sea of troubles have I
plunged. Murder and I will become familiar, and I shall learn to breathe
an atmosphere of blood. Oh, horror! horror! horror!" The crowd in that dense thoroughfare passed on, and no one took heed of
the seeming boy, as he wept and sobbed in that doorway. Some had no time
to waste upon the sorrows of other people;--some buttoned up their
pockets as though they feared that the tears that stood upon that pale
face were but the preludes to some pecuniary demand;--others again
passed on rapidly, for they were so comfortable and cosy that they
really could not have their feelings lacerated by any tale of misery,
not they. And so Johanna wept alone. Ding dong! ding dong! What is that? Oh, St. Dunstan's chimes. How long has she been from the
shop? Shall she return to it, or fly at once and seek for refuge from
all the sorrows and from all the horrors that surround her, in the arms
of her father? "Direct me, oh God!" she cried. Some one suddenly clasps her arm. "Johanna! Johanna!" It was Arabella Wilmot. [Illustration: Johanna Disguised As A Boy, Is Found Weeping By Arabella,
Near St. Dunstan's.] "Johanna--dear, dear Johanna, you are safe--quite safe. Come home
now--oh, come--oh, come--come." "You here, Arabella?" "Yes, I am mad--mad!--at least, I was going mad, Johanna; in my agony to
know what had become of you, and notwithstanding I have told Sir Richard
Blunt, I had no faith in the love and the courage of any one but myself.