The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 393: what you’re looking at

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

“Are you man or devil, that you know what I have never breathed to you?” “Don’t be surprised, my young friend. I can tell you a little more than that even. The friend to whom you intrusted your String of Pearls, was named Francis Thornhill; and his dog—tlet me see—Oh, his large dog was called ‘Hector.’” Mark Ingestrie trembled excessively, and sinking back in his seat, he turned very pale. “This must be a dream,” he said, “or you, sir, get your information from the spirits of the dead.” “Not at all. But have you faith in my inspiration now sufficient to induce you to believe anything that I may tell you?” “In good truth, I have: and I may well have, for after what you have already told me, your power of knowledge cannot by me be for one moment.” “Very well, then. In the first place, Mr. Francis Thornhill reached London in safety.” “He did?” “T tell you so. He arrived in London with your String of Pearls in his pocket. He fully believed you were dead. Indeed, he fancied that he had seen the last of you, and was quite prepared to say as much to Miss Johanna Oakley.” “And he did? That will be some excuse for her, if she thought that I was gone.” “No, he did not. On his route he turned into the shop of Sweeney Todd to be shaved, and there he was murdered.” “Murdered!” “Yes, most foully murdered; and the String of Pearls got into the possession of that man, proving ultimately one of the means by which his frightful villainous crime came to light. The dog remained at Todd’s door seeking for its master, to the great discomfiture of the murderer, who made every effort within his power for its destruction, in which however he did not succeed.” “Gracious Heaven! my poor friend Thornhill to meet with such a fate! Oh God! and all on account of that fatal String of Pearls! Oh, Thornhill—Thornhill! rather would I have sunk for ever beneath the wave, than such a dreadful end should have been yours.” “The past cannot be recalled,” said Sir Richard. “It is only with the present, and with the future, that we have anything to do now. Would you like to hear more?” “More? Of whom? Is he not dead?—my poor friend?” “Yes, he is dead; but I can tell you more of other people. I can tell you that Johanna Oakley was faithful to you. I can tell you that she mourned your loss as you would wish her to mourn it, knowing how you would mourn hers. I can tell you that the gentleman’s arm she was leaning upon was only a dear friend, and that the fact of her having to be supported by him at the unlucky moment when you saw this was solely owing to the deep grief she was plunged into upon your account.” “Oh no—no—no!” “T say yes. It was so, Mr. Ingestrie; and if you had at that moment stepped forward, you would have saved yourself much misery, and you would have saved her such heart-breaking thoughts, and such danger, as it will frighten you to listen to.” Q9OOO0OOOO CORniclooo S CO)