The String of Pearls (1850), p. 322

yield. She tried, too, the parlour door without effect. That was quite fast; but as she turned the handle of the lock, she fancied she heard, or she really did hear something move in the room. A faint feeling came over her for a moment, and she was glad to hold by the wall, close at hand, to support herself.
"It must have been fancy," she said faintly. "I am learning nothing, and the time is flying fast."
A kind of counter ran parallel to the window, and beneath it was a space covered in by doors. Todd surely had forgotten that, for one of the doors was
open. Johanna looked in and beheld quite a collection of sticks and umbrellas.
Some clothing too lay upon the lowest shelf. With trembling hands, Johanna pulled at the sleeve of some article and found it to be a jacket, such as a sailor
of the better sort might wear, for it was exquisitively fine, and had no end of silver buttons upon it. Her sight was dimmed by tears, as she said to herself—
"Oh, God! was this his?"
She held the jacket up to the light, and she found the breast portion of it stained, and all the buttons there tarnished. What was it but blood? The blood of the
hapless wearer of that article of dress, that produced such an effect; but yet how was she to prove to herself that it had been Mark Ingestrie? Then it was
that the thought struck her of how ill conceived had been that undertaking, which might, in the midst of all its frightful dangers, only end in furnishing her
with more food for the most horrible surmises, without banishing one sad image of her imagination, or confirming one dreadful dream of the fate of her lover.
"'Tis all in vain !" she gasped. "All in vain! I shall know nothing, and only feel more desolate. It would be a mercy if that were to kill me! Ah! no. Not yet—not yet!"
Some one was trying the handle of the shop door. With frightful energy Johanna hid the jacket, but not in its proper place, for she only thurst it beneath
the cushion of a chair close at hand, and then shutting the door of the receptacle beneath the counter, she rose to her feet, and with a face pale as monumental
marble, and her hands clasped rigidly, she said—
"Who—who is there?"
"Hilloa! Open the door!" said a voice.
Some one again tried the handle, aud then kicked vigorously at the lower panel.
"Patience," said Johanna, "patience."
She opened the door.
"Is Mr. Todd at hand?" said a lad.
"No—no."
"You are his boy, are you not?"
"I am."
"Then take this."
The lad handed a sealed letter to Johanna, and in a moment left the door. She held the letter in her hand scarcely looking at it. Of course she thought it was
for Todd, but after a few moments her eyes fell upon the superscription, and there, to her surprise, she read as follow—
"To Miss Oakley, who is requested to read the enclosed quickly, and secretly, and then to destroy it."
To tear open the letter was the work of a moment. The sheet of paper tumbled in Johanna's hands as she read as follows—
"From Sir Richard Blunt to Miss Oakley.
"Miss Oakley, the expedition upon which you are at present says much more for your courage and chivalrous spirit than it can ever say for your discretion or the discretion of her who permitted you so far to commit your life to such chances. You should, considering your youth and sex, have left it to others to carry out such schemes; and it is well that those others are aware of your position, and so, in a great measure, enabled to shield you from, perhaps, the worst
consequences of your great indescretion, for it cannot be called anything else.