“From you—yes,” cried Candituft, and he seized Jericho’s hand. The Man of Money looked at Candituft with a contemptuous sneer, and with a wrench twisted his hand away. He then dropt in his chair, and a strange, diabolical scowl possessed his countenance. The Man-Tamer shrank from his friend; Mrs. Jericho ran to her husband, but screamed at the sudden change that seemed to blot out the human character of his face. The Man of Money, with his own features, looked a devil.
“And where—where do you think this money is to come from? Where?” asked Jericho, and he rose from his chair, and it seemed as though the demon possessing him would compel the wretch to talk—would compel him to make terrible revealings. Every word he uttered was born of agony. But there he stood; forced to give out utterances that tortured him. “I will tell you,” roared Jericho, “what this money is. Look about you! What do you see? Fine walls—fine pictures—fine everything. Why, you see me—tortured, torn, worked up, changed. The walls are hung with my flesh: my flesh you walk upon. There, that—that”—and Jericho pointed to the diamond on Candituft’s finger—“that gem—that jewel, as bright as the sun in heaven—what is it? Why, it’s my blood—my blood distilled, then hardened into stone. I am worn piecemeal by a hundred thieves, but I’ll be shared among them no longer.”
By this time, the girls and Sir Arthur Hodmadod, alarmed by the cries of Jericho, had entered the room.
“And you had a fine feast, had you not?” cried the possessed Man of Money, writhing with misery, and howling his confession. “And what did you eat? my flesh—what did you drink? my blood.”
“It’s impossible,” cried Hodmadod, aghast. “When I say impossible”—
“The food, the wines, the gold and silver, all—all of me—and so I’m shared to feed fools and make a show. To make a show,” Jericho repeated, his voice sinking, and he fell, as in a fit, in his chair.
For some minutes he lay as though he had passed into sleep: and the malignant expression gradually cleared from his face.
“Very odd,” said Sir Arthur, “very strange. Better send for Doctor Stubbs.”
“Hush! it’s a fit, a passing fit; he’s better now, and fast asleep,” said Mrs. Jericho, whilst the girls exchanged strange looks with one another. “Fast asleep.”
“I congratulate you,” said Candituft to Hodmadod, as they both left the room, “he consents to your marriage.”