Tobias followed Todd very unsuspectingly into the parlour; but when they
got there and the door was closed, the barber sprang upon him like an
enraged tiger, and, grappling him by the throat, he gave his head such a
succession of knocks against the wainscot, that Mr. Grant must have
thought that some carpenter was at work. Then he tore a handful of his
hair out, after which he twisted him round, and dealt him such a kick,
that he was flung sprawling into a corner of the room, and then, without
a word, the barber walked out again to his customer, and bolted his
parlour door on the outside, leaving Tobias to digest the usage he had
received at his leisure, and in the best way he could. When he came back to Mr. Grant, he apologised for keeping him waiting,
by saying,--

"It became necessary, sir, to teach my new apprentice a little bit of
his business. I have left him studying it now. There is nothing like
teaching young folks at once." "Ah!" said Mr. Grant, with a sigh, "I know what it is to let young folks
grow wild; for although I have neither chick nor child of my own, I had
a sister's son to look to--a handsome, wild, harum-scarum sort of
fellow, as like me as one pea is like another. I tried to make a lawyer
of him, but it wouldn't do, and it's now more than two years ago he left
me altogether; and yet there were some good traits about Mark." "Mark, sir! Did you say Mark?" "Yes, that was his name, Mark Ingestrie. God knows what's become of
him." "Oh!" said Sweeney Todd; he went on lathering the chin of Mr. Grant. CHAPTER II
                    THE SPECTACLE-MAKER'S DAUGHTER. "Johanna, Johanna, my dear, do you know what time it is? Johanna, I say,
my dear, are you going to get up? Here's your mother has trotted out to
Parson Lupin's, and you know I have got to go to Alderman Judd's house,
in Cripplegate, the first thing, and I haven't had a morsel of breakfast
yet. Johanna, my dear, do you hear me?" These observations were made by Mr. Oakley, the spectacle-maker, at the
door of his daughter Johanna's chamber, on the morning after the events
we have just recorded at Sweeney Todd's; and presently, a soft sweet
voice answered him, saying,--

"I am coming, father, I am coming: in a moment, father, I shall be
down." "Don't hurry yourself, my darling, I can wait." The little old spectacle-maker descended the staircase again, and sat
down in the parlour at the back of the shop, where, in a few moments, he
was joined by Johanna, his only and his much-loved child. She was indeed a creature of the rarest grace and beauty. Her age was
eighteen, but she looked rather younger, and upon her face she had that
sweetness and intelligence of expression which almost bids defiance to
the march of time. Her hair was of a glossy blackness, and what was rare
in conjunction with such a feature, her eyes were of a deep and heavenly
blue. There was nothing of the commanding or of the severe style of
beauty about her, but the expression of her face was all grace and
sweetness. It was one of those countenances which one could look at for
a long summer's day, as upon the pages of some deeply interesting
volume, which furnished the most abundant food for pleasant and
delightful reflection. There was a touch of sadness about her voice, which, perhaps, only
tended to make it the more musical, although mournfully so, and which
seemed to indicate that at the bottom of her heart there lay some grief
which had not yet been spoken--some cherished aspiration of her pure
soul, which looked hopeless as regards completion--some remembrance of a
former joy, which had been turned to bitterness and grief; it was the
cloud in the sunny sky--the shadow through which there still gleamed
bright and beautiful sunshine, but which still proclaimed its presence. "I have kept you waiting, father," she said, as she flung her arms about
the old man's neck, "I have kept you waiting." "Never mind, my dear, never mind. Your mother is so taken up with Mr.
Lupin, that you know, this being Wednesday morning, she is off to his
prayer meeting, and so I have had no breakfast; and really I think I
must discharge Sam." "Indeed, father! what has he done?" "Nothing at all, and that's the very reason. I had to take down the
shutters myself this morning, and what do you think for? He had the
coolness to tell me he couldn't take down the shutters this morning, or
sweep out the shop, because his aunt had the toothache." "A poor excuse, father," said Johanna, as she bustled about and got the
breakfast ready; "a very poor excuse." "Poor indeed! but his month is up to-day, and I must get rid of him. But
I suppose I shall have no end of bother with your mother, because his
aunt belongs to Mr. Lupin's congregation; but as sure as this is the
20th day of August--"

"It is the 20th day of August," said Johanna, as she sunk into a chair
and burst into tears. "It is, it is! I thought I could have controlled
this, but I cannot, father, I cannot. It was that which made me late. I
knew mother was out; I knew that I ought to be down attending upon you,
and I was praying to Heaven for strength to do so because this was the
20th of August." Johanna spoke these words incoherently, and amidst sobs, and when she
had finished them, she leant her sweet face upon her small hands, and
wept like a child. The astonishment, not unmingled with positive dismay, of the old
spectacle-maker, was vividly depicted on his countenance, and for some
minutes he sat perfectly aghast, with his hands resting on his knees,
and looking in the face of his beautiful child--that is to say, as much
as he could see of it between those little taper fingers that were
spread upon it--as if he were newly awakened from some dream. "Good God, Johanna!" he said at length, "what is this? My dear child,
what has happened? Tell me, my dear, unless you wish to kill me with
grief." "You shall know, father," she said. "I did not think to say a word about
it, but considered I had strength enough of mind to keep my sorrows in
my own breast, but the effort has been too much for me, and I have been
compelled to yield. If you had not looked so kindly on me--if I did not
know that you loved me as you do, I should easily have kept my secret,
but, knowing that much, I cannot." "My darling," said the old man, "you are right, there; I do love you. What would the world be to me without you? There was a time, twenty
years ago, when your mother made up much of my happiness, but of late,
what with Mr. Lupin, and psalm-singing, and tea-drinking, I see very
little of her, and what little I do see is not very satisfactory. Tell
me, my darling, what it is that vexes you, and I'll soon put it to
rights. I don't belong to the city trainbands for nothing."