And Monica entirely vanquished her fears. And Agatha never screamed again: no; she would smile when she met her dear father; more, would raise herself upon her toes, and take a kiss from him, gulping it with great content. How, indeed, could wicked rumours any longer pass into the ears of the young ladies, when their father had hung there the costliest ear-rings? Those diamonds—like the diamond shield of St. George—shamed and confounded everything false that approached them. A happy thought, this, of Jericho’s, to protect an ear with a diamond!
Nevertheless, Mr. Jericho was doomed to meet with a rebuff. In the full flush of victory he was to be chilled. Among his laurels there was an ugly, domestic slug, that would stick there. And this, too, with Jericho’s power of money! However, the annoyance was only passing; a bank-note or two would wipe the eye-sore off; would make the soiled leaf immortally green. Now, this contemptible, yet irritating slug, was our young friend Basil, changed almost as much as Jericho himself. Love had seemed to give sudden maturity to his brain: had seemed to have advanced to meet time on his way, learning by anticipation his goodly lessons. It was only at intervals that Basil’s odd, quaint spirit, that had shone in him from boyhood, would now reveal itself. At times, he would be as fantastic as ever, but the fitful jest would die in sudden gravity. However, altered as Basil was, his arrival at the mansion of Jericho was a matter of delight to his mother and sisters. Mrs. Jericho’s only trouble was, that her foolish boy would not be friendly with his excellent father. And both the girls would earnestly assure their brother—though they must own Mr. Jericho got awfully thin, and they could not account for it—that after all he was a dear, kind man, and never refused anything.
“Why, what is the matter, my dear Basil?” said Mrs. Jericho. “Why, you look ten years older. I’m sure you study too much. And, you foolish boy, why should you study at all, now?”
“Why, indeed, mamma?” asked Monica. “Why not leave law to people—poor creatures!—who have nothing but their wits? By what I hear, there’s not room even for them: and, as Mr. Candituft says, it is not kind—it is not philanthropic—for wealth to study to take the bread out of the mouths of the indigent. Do give up those horrid chambers, and be a gentleman.”
“Yes, dear,” said Agatha; “and if you must employ your time, why not go into the army? You would look charming, Basil, you would, indeed; and I’m sure Mr. Jericho would buy you as many regiments as you’d like to be officer to. Do be a soldier—there’s a darling.”
“Or, my dear Basil,”—observed Mrs. Jericho with serious emphasis,—“as you seem strangely inclined to a sober view of the world, if you would prefer the church—not, for my own part, that I think any profession necessary for you—nevertheless, if you have a regard for the church—I do not see, looking into the probability of events, and contemplating—as I have contemplated—the growing interest of Mr. Jericho—I do not see, my dear child, why you should not be a bishop.” And Mrs. Jericho resignedly folded her hands at the prospect of Canaan.
“Thank you, my dear madam—in the meantime can I see Mr. Jericho?” asked Basil.
“Of course, my love. He’ll be enchanted at your visit; delighted to see you. Here, my dear.” Basil followed his mother; who, pausing in an ante-room, turned to her son. “Now, my dear boy, do be courteous to your father. He loves you—I know he loves you. And yet you will look so coldly. Ha! Basil, you don’t know Mr. Jericho’s heart.”
“Humph!” said Basil.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Jericho, entering the library, where Jericho sat, “I have brought you a truant.”