The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 272: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CHAPTER LXXIX. COLONEL JEFFERY OPENS HIS EYES. TITLE AS PRINTED: Mrs. Lovett Visits the Bank and Todd. If any one had been looking at the face of Arabella Wilmot at this particular juncture, and if the party so looking had chanced to be learned in reading the various emotions of the heart from the expression of the features, they might have chanced upon some curious revelations. It was only one glance that Arabella gave to the Colonel, but that was sufficient. A word slightly spoken, and in due season, Many say more than a volume of preaching; and so one transient glance, fleeting as a sun-beam in an English April, may, with most eloquent meaning, preach a sermon that would puzzle many a divine. But we have become so familiar with the reader, and put ourselves upon such a cordial shake-hands sort of feeling, in particular with you, Miss, who are now reading this passage, that we will whisper a secret in your ear, and the more readily, too, as to whisper we must come particularly close to that soft downy cheek, and almost be able to look askance into those eyes in which the light of Heaven seems dancing,—Arabella Wilmot is in love! Yes, Arabella Wilmot is in love with Colonel Jeffery; and small blame to her, as they say in Ireland, for is he not a gentleman in the true acceptation of the term? Not a manufactured gentleman, but one of nature’s gentlemen. You will have promised, my dear what’s-your-name, that Arabella, to herself even, has hardly confessed her feelings; but still they are creeping upon her most insidiously as such feelings somehow or other will and do creep. To be sure, if any one were to stop her in the street or anywhere else to say: “Arabella, you are in love with Colonel Jeffery,” she would say—‘“No, no, no!” many times over. But yet it is true. “You read it in her glistening eyes, And thus alone should love be read: She says it in her gentle sighs, And thus alone should love be said.” After this, who will be hardy enough, my dear, to dispute the fact with you and I? And now we will watch her, ay, that we will, and see how she will behave herself under such trying circumstances. Colonel Jeffery advanced, and as in duty and gallantry called upon, he, after slightly bowing to the gentlemen, spoke to Arabella. “This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Wilmot,” he said. “I hope I see you well. Here is a seat close at hand. May I have the pleasure of conducting you to it?” “Johanna is—is—is—” stammered Arabella. “Well, I hope,” interposed the colonel. “Oh, no—no—that is, yes.” The colonel looked puzzled. He was not a conjurer, and so might look puzzled, if he looked like any ordinary man, who hears any one say no, and yes in the same breath, without any injury to his reputation. “Mr. Ben,” said Sir Richard Blunt, “I have something for your private ear, if you will just step on with me.” “My private ear?” said Ben with a confused look, as if he would have liked to add, “which is that?” “Yes. This way if you please.” Ben walked on with the magistrate, and Colonel Jeffery was alone with Arabella Wilmot. Yes, alone with the one person who insensibly had crept into her affections. Alas! Is the pure love of that young creature scattered to the winds? Is she one of those who drag about them in this world the heavy chain of unrequited affection? We shall see. Arabella had permitted the colonel to hand her to one of the garden-seats near at hand. How could she prevent him? If he had chosen instead to hand her into the river it would have been just the same, and she would have gone. He led her by that wreath of flowers which in old Arcadia was first linked by Cupid, and which, in all time since, has wound itself around the hearts of all the boy- god’s victims. “Miss Wilmot,” said the colonel, and now his voice faltered a little, “I have much wished to see you.” “Very fine, indeed,” said Arabella. “You said something about the weather, did you not?” “Not exactly,” he said; “I had much wished to see you.” “Me?” “Yes, and to begin at the beginning, you know I—I—loved Johanna Oakley. Yes, I loved her.” “Yes—yes.” “T loved her for her beauty, and for the gentle and the chivalrous devotion of her character, you understand. I loved her for the very tears she shed for another, and for the very constancy with which she clung to the memory of his affection for her. I saw in her such child-like purity of mind, such generosity of disposition, such enchanting humanity of soul, that I could not but love her.” “Yes, yes,” gasped Arabella. “Yes.” “Will you pardon me for saying all this to you?” “Oh yes. Go on—go on, unless you have said all?” CORniclooo S CO)