CHAPTER IX.

JOHANNA AT HOME, AND THE RESOLUTION.

Johanna Oakley would not allow Colonel Jeffery to accompany her all the

way home, and he, appreciating the scruples of the young girl, did not

press his attention upon her, but left her at the corner of Fore-street,

after getting from her a half promise that she would meet him again on

that day week, at the same hour, in the Temple-gardens.

"I ask this of you, Johanna Oakley," he said, "because I have resolved

to make all the exertion in my power to discover what has become of Mr.

Thornhill, in whose fate I am sure I have succeeded in interesting you,

although you care so little for the string of pearls which he has in

trust for you."

"I do, indeed, care little for them," said Johanna, "so little, that it

may be said to amount to nothing."

"But still they are yours, and you ought to have the option of disposing

of them as you please. It is not well to despise such gifts of fortune;

for if you can yourself do nothing with them, there are surely some

others whom you may know, upon whom they would bestow great happiness."

"A string of pearls, great happiness?" said Johanna, inquiringly.

"Your mind is so occupied by your grief that you quite forget such

strings are of great value. I have seen those pearls, Johanna, and can

assure you that they are in themselves a fortune."

"I suppose," she said sadly, "it is too much for human nature to expect

two blessings at once. I had the fond, warm heart that loved me without

the fortune, that would have enabled us to live in comfort and

affluence; and now, when that is perchance within my grasp, the heart,

that was by far the more costly possession, and the richest jewel of

them all, lies beneath the wave with its bright influences, and its

glorious and romantic aspirations, quenched for ever."

"You will meet me then, as I request of you, to hear if I have any news

for you?"

"I will endeavour so to do. I have all the will; but Heaven knows if I

may have the power."

"What mean you, Johanna?"

"I cannot tell what a week's anxiety may do; I know not but a sick bed

may be my resting-place, until I exchange it for the tomb. I feel even

now my strength fail me, and that I am scarcely able to totter to my

home. Farewell, sir! I owe you my best thanks, as well for the trouble

you have taken, as for the kindly manner in which you have detailed to

me what has passed."

"Remember," said Colonel Jeffery, "that I bid you adieu, with the hope

of meeting you again."

It was thus they parted, and Johanna proceeded to her father's house.

Who now that had met her and had chanced not to see that sweet face,

which could never be forgotten, would have supposed her to be the once

gay and sprightly Johanna Oakley? Her steps were sad and solemn, and all

the juvenile elasticity of her frame seemed like one prepared for death;

and she hoped that she would be able to glide, silently and unobserved,

to her own little bed-chamber--that chamber where she had slept since

she was a child, and on the little couch, on which she had so often laid

down to sleep that holy and calm slumber which such hearts as hers can

only know. But she was doomed to be disappointed, for the Rev. Mr. Lupin

was still there, and as Mrs. Oakley had placed before that pious

individual a great assortment of creature comforts, and among the rest

some mulled wine, which seemed particularly to agree with him, he showed

no disposition to depart. It unfortunately happened that this wine, of

which the reverend gentleman partook with such a holy relish, was kept

in a cellar, and Mrs. Oakley had had occasion twice to go down to

procure a fresh supply, and it was on a third journey for the same

purpose that she encountered poor Johanna, who had just let herself in

at the private door.

"Oh! you have come home, have you?" said Mrs. Oakley; "I wonder where

you have been to, gallivanting; but I suppose I may wonder long enough

before you will tell me. Go into the parlour, I want to speak to you."

Now poor Johanna had quite forgotten the very existence of Mr.

Lupin--so, rather than explain to her mother, which she knew would beget

more questions, she wished to go to bed at once, notwithstanding it was

an hour before the usual time for so doing. She walked unsuspectingly

into the parlour, and as Mr. Lupin was sitting, the slightest movement

of his chair closed the door, so she could not escape. Under any other

circumstances probably Johanna would have insisted upon leaving the

apartment; but a glance at the countenance of the pious individual was

quite sufficient to convince her that he had been sacrificing

sufficiently to Bacchus to be capable of any amount of effrontery, so

that she dreaded passing him, more especially as he swayed his arms

about like the sails of a windmill. She thought at least that when her

mother returned she would rescue her; but in that hope she was mistaken,

and Johanna had no more idea of the extent to which religious fanaticism

will carry its victim, than she had of the manners and customs of the

inhabitants of the moon. When Mrs. Oakley did return, she had some

difficulty in getting into the apartment, inasmuch as Mr. Lupin's chair

occupied so large a portion of it; but when she did obtain admission,

and Johanna said--

"Mother, I beg of you to protect me against this man, and allow me a

free passage from the apartment!"

Mrs. Oakley affected to lift up her hands in amazement, as she said--

"How dare you speak so disrespectfully of a chosen vessel? How dare you,

I say, do such a thing--it's enough to drive any one mad to see the

young girls now-a-days!"

"Don't snub her--don't snub the virgin," said Mr. Lupin; "she don't know

the honour yet that's intended her."

"She don't deserve it," said Mrs. Oakley, "she don't deserve it."

"Never mind, madam--never mind; we--we--we don't get all what we deserve

in this world."

"Take a drop of something, Mr. Lupin; you have got the hiccups."

"Yes; I--I rather think I have a little. Isn't it a shame that anybody

so intimate with the Lord should have the hiccups? What a lot of lights

you have got burning, Mrs. Oakley!"

"A lot of lights, Mr. Lupin! Why, there is only one; but perhaps you

allude to the lights of the gospel?"

"No; I--I don't, just at present; damn the lights of the gospel--that is

to say, I mean damn all backsliders! But there is a lot of lights, and

no mistake, Mrs. Oakley. Give me a drop of something, I'm as dry as

dust."

"There is some more mulled wine, Mr. Lupin; but I am surprised that you

think there is more than one light."

"It's a miracle madam, in consequence of my great faith. I have faith in

s--s--s--six lights, and here they are."

"Do you see that, Johanna?" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, "are you not

convinced now of the holiness of Mr. Lupin?"

"I am convinced of his drunkenness, mother, and entreat of you to let me

leave the room at once."

"Tell her of the honour," said Mr. Lupin--"tell her of the honour."

"I don't know, Mr. Lupin; but don't you think it would be better to take

some other opportunity?"

"Very well, then, this is the opportunity."

"If it's your pleasure, Mr. Lupin, I will. You must know, then, Johanna,

that Mr. Lupin has been kind enough to consent to save my soul, on

condition that you marry him, and I am quite sure you can have no

reasonable objection; indeed, I think it's the least you can do, whether

you have any objection or not."

"Well put," said Mr. Lupin, "excellently well put."

"Mother," said Johanna, "if you are so far gone in superstition, as to

believe this miserable drunkard ought to come between you and heaven, I

am so lost as not to be able to reject the offer with more scorn and

contempt than ever I thought I could have entertained for any human

being; but hypocrisy never, to my mind, wears so disgusting a garb as

when it attires itself in the outward show of religion."

"This conduct is unbearable," cried Mrs. Oakley; "am I to have one of

the Lord's saints under my own roof?"

"If he were ten times a saint, mother, instead of being nothing but a

miserable, drunken profligate, it would be better that he should be

insulted ten times over, than that you should permit your own child to

have passed through the indignity of having to reject such a proposition

as that which has just been made. I must claim the protection of my

father; he will not suffer one, towards whom he has ever shown an

affection, the remembrance of which sinks deep into my heart, to meet

with so cruel an insult beneath his roof."

"That's right, my dear," cried Mr. Oakley, at that moment pushing open

the parlour-door. "That's right, my dear; you never spoke truer words in

all your life."

A faint scream came from Mrs. Oakley, and the Rev. Mr. Lupin immediately

seized upon the fresh jug of mulled wine, and finished it at a draught.

"Get behind me, Satan," he said. "Mr. Oakley, you will be damned if you

say a word to me."

"It's all the same, then," said Mr. Oakley; "for I'll be damned if I

don't. Then, Ben! Ben! come--come in, Ben."

"I'm a coming," said a deep voice, and a man about six feet four inches

in height, and nearly two-thirds of that amount in width, entered the

parlour. "I'm a coming, Oakley, my boy. Put on your blessed spectacles,

and tell me which is the fellow."

"I could have sworn it," said Mrs. Oakley, as she gave the table a knock

with her fist,--"I could have sworn when you came in, Oakley--I could

have sworn, you little snivelling, shrivelled-up wretch, you'd no more

have dared to come into this parlour as never was with those words in

your mouth, than you'd have dared to have flown, if you hadn't had your

cousin, Big Ben, the beef-eater, from the Tower, with you."

"Take it easy, ma'am," said Ben, as he sat down in a chair, which

immediately broke all to pieces with his weight. "Take it easy, ma'am;

the devil--what's this?"

"Never mind, Ben," said Mr. Oakley, "it's only a chair; get up."

"A cheer," said Ben; "do you call that a cheer? but never mind--take it

easy."

"Why, you big, bullying, idle, swilling and guttling ruffian!"

"Go on, marm, go on."

"You good-for-nothing lump of carrion; a dog wears his own coat, but you

wear your master's, you great stupid, overgrown, lurking hound. You

parish-brought-up wild beast, go and mind your lions and elephants in

the Tower, and don't come into honest people's houses, you cut-throat,

bullying, pickpocketing wretch."

"Go on, marm, go on."

This was a kind of dialogue that could not last, and Mrs. Oakley sank

down exhausted, and then Ben said--

"I tell you what, marm, I considers you--I looks upon you, marm, as a

female wariety of that ere animal as is very useful and sagacious,

marm."

There was no mistake in this allusion, and Mrs. Oakley was about to make

some reply, when the Rev. Mr. Lupin rose from his chair, saying--

"Bless you all! I think I'll go home."

"Not yet, Mr. Tulip," said Ben; "you had better sit down again--we've

got something to say to you."

"Young man, young man, let me pass. If you do not, you will endanger

your soul."

"I aint got none," said Ben; "I'm only a beef-eater, and don't pretend

to such luxuries."

"The heathen!" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, "the horrid heathen! but there's

one consolation, and that is, that he will be fried in his own fat for

everlasting."

"Oh, that's nothing," said Ben; "I think I shall like it, especially if

it's any pleasure to you. I suppose that's what you call a Christian

consolation. Will you sit down, Mr. Tulip?"

"My name aint Tulip, but Lupin; but if you wish it, I don't mind sitting

down, of course."

The beef-eater, with a movement of his foot, kicked away the reverend

gentleman's chair, and down he sat with a dab upon the floor.

"My dear," said Mr. Oakley to Johanna, "you go to bed, and then your

mother can't say you have anything to do with this affair. I intend to

rid my house of this man. Good night, my dear, good night."

Johanna kissed her father on the cheek, and then left the room, not at

all sorry that so vigorous a movement was about being made for the

suppression of Mr. Lupin. When she was gone, Mrs. Oakley spoke, saying--

"Mr. Lupin, I bid you good night, and, of course, after the rough

treatment of these wretches, I can hardly expect you to come again. Good

night, Mr. Lupin, good night."

"That's all very well, marm," said Ben, "but before this ere wild beast

of a parson goes away, I want to admonish him. He don't seem to be wide

awake, and I must rouse him up."

Ben took hold of the reverend gentleman's nose, and gave it such an

awful pinch, that when he took his finger and thumb away, it was

perfectly blue.

"Murder! oh, murder! my nose! my nose!" shrieked Mr. Lupin, and at that

moment Mrs. Oakley, who was afraid to attack Ben, gave her husband such

an open-handed whack on the side of his head, that the little man reeled

again, and saw a great many more lights than the Rev. Mr. Lupin had done

under the influence of the mulled wine.

"Very good," said Ben; "now we are getting into, the thick of it."

[Illustration: Big Ben Compels Mr. Lupin To Do Penance.]

With this Ben took from his pocket a coil of rope, one end of which was

a noose, and that he dexterously threw over Mrs. Oakley's head.

"Murder!" she shrieked. "Oakley, are you going to see me murdered before

your eyes?"

"There is such a singing in my ears," said Mr. Oakley, "that I can't see

anything."

"This is the way," said Ben, "we manages the wild beastesses when they

shuts their ears to all sorts of argument. Now, marm, if you please, a

little this way."

Ben looked about until he found a strong hook in the wall, over which,

in consequence of his great height, he was enabled to draw the rope, and

then the other end of it he tied securely to the leg of a heavy

secretaire that was in the room, so that Mrs. Oakley was well secured.

"Murder!" she cried. "Oakley, are you a man, that you stand by and see

me treated in this way by this big brute?"

"I can't see anything," said Mr. Oakley; "there is such a singing in my

ears; I told you so before--I can't see anything."

"Now, ma'am, you may just say what you like," said Ben; "it won't matter

a bit, any more than the grumbling of a bear with a sore head; and as

for you, Mr. Tulip, you'll just get down on your knees, and beg Mr.

Oakley's pardon for coming and drinking his tea without his leave, and

having the infernal impudence to speak to his daughter."

"Don't do it, Mr. Lupin," cried Mrs. Oakley--"don't do it."

"You hear," said Ben, "what the lady advises. Now, I am quite different;

I advise you to do it--for, if you don't, I shan't hurt you, but it

strikes me I shall be obliged to fall on you and crush you."

"I think I will," said Mr. Lupin: "the saints were always forced to

yield to the Philistines."

"If you call me any names," said Ben, "I'll just wring your neck,"

"Young man, young man, let me exhort you. Allow me to go, and I will put

up prayers for your conversion."

"Confound your impudence! what do you suppose the beasts in the Tower

would do, if I was converted? Why, that 'ere tiger, we have had lately,

would eat his own tail, to think as I had turned out such an ass. Come,

I can't waste any more of my precious time; and if you don't get down on

your knees directly, we'll see what we can do."

"I must," said Mr. Lupin, "I must, I suppose;" and down he flopped on

his knees.

"Very good; now repeat after me.--I am a wolf that stole sheeps'

clothing."

"Yes; 'I am a wolf that stole sheeps' clothing'--the Lord forgive me."

"Perhaps he may, and perhaps he mayn't. Now go on--all that's wirtuous

is my loathing."

"Oh dear, yes--'all that's wirtuous is my loathing.'"

"Mr. Oakley, I have offended."

"Yes; I am a miserable sinner, Mr. Oakley, I have offended."

"And asks his pardon, on my bended--"

"Oh dear, yes--I asks his pardon on my bended--The Lord have mercy upon

us, miserable sinners!"

"Knees--I won't do so no more."

"Yes,--knees, I won't do so no more."

"As sure as I lies on this floor."

"Yes,--as sure as I lies on this floor.--Death and the devil, you've

killed me!"

Ben took hold of the reverend gentleman by the back of the neck, and

pressed his head down upon the floor, until his nose, which had before

been such a sufferer, was nearly completely flattened with his face.

"Now you may go;" said Ben.

Mr. Lupin scrambled to his feet; but Ben followed him into the passage,

and did not yet let him go, until he had accelerated his movements by

two hearty kicks. And then the victorious beef-eater returned to the

parlour.

"Why, Ben," said Mr. Oakley, "you are quite a poet."

"I believe you, Oakley, my boy," said Ben, "and now let us be off, and

have a pint round the corner."

"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, "and leave me here, you wretches?"

"Yes," said Ben, "unless you promises never to be a female variety of a

useful animal again, and begs pardon of Mr. Oakley, for giving him all

this trouble; as for me, I'll let you off cheap, you shall only give me

a kiss, and say you loves me."

"If I do, may I be--"

"Damned, you mean."

"No, I don't; choked I was going to say."

"Then you may be choked, for you have nothing to do but to let your legs

go from under you, and you will be hung as comfortable as possible--come

along, Oakley."

"Mr. Oakley--stop, stop--don't leave me here. I am sorry."

"That's enough," said Mr. Oakley; "and now, my dear, bear in mind one

thing from me--I intend from this time forward to be master in my own

house. If you and I are to live together, we must do so on very

different terms to what we have been living, and if you won't make

yourself agreeable, Lawyer Hutchins tells me that I can turn you out and

give you a maintenance; and, in that case, I'll have my sister Rachel

home to mind house for me; so now you know my determination, and what

you have to expect. If you wish to begin, well, do so at once, by

getting something nice and tasty for Ben's supper."

Mrs. Oakley made the required promise, and being released, she set about

preparations for the supper in real earnest, but whether was really

subdued or not we shall, in due time, see.