Poor Mrs. Jericho—more and more assured of the madness of her husband—had resolved to take counsel of her dear and valued friends. Again and again she had determined to seek Basil, and then she faltered; for she feared the wild enthusiasm of his temper. He would, it was her dread, make such strange conditions; would doubtless insist upon her renunciation of Jericho’s wealth; would require herself and daughters to forego the luxuries that custom had made necessary as daily bread. Therefore she would appeal to the judgment of wise, practical people; of men who really knew the world; of folks who, strong in the religion that it was the best possible abiding-place, never dreamt of quitting it. (Thus, whilst Jericho was raving in the garret, Mrs. Jericho was giving audience to councillors and friends. The Man of Money saw his wife and her daughters homeless, destitute, and enjoyed happiness, as at a draught, meditating such misery. And at the same moment, Mrs. Jericho contemplated the Man of Money secure in a mad-house; made harmless and made as comfortable as his sad condition would allow. Jericho, his brain the while singing with sweet music, was reviewing his millions of golden soldiery. And at the like instant, Jericho’s wife, anticipating time, beheld her lunatic lord in paper diadem and straw boots.)
Doctor Stubbs, combining the two noble characters of doctor and friend, was prompt—aye, affectionately prompt—with his best aid. And Doctor Mizzlemist united great private regard with great public erudition. Mizzlemist had flown in his carriage with his best consolation. Colonel Bones, in his hard, coarse way—but solacing withal, like sugar from wood—came ready with his counsel, though at the peril of his life. Commissioner Thrush, filled with exotic wisdom culled from the spiceries of Siam, attended, a comforter; and the Honourable Cesar Candituft, though bleeding with an inward wound for the falsehood of a friend, even Candituft at such a moment would not absent himself.—No; though Agatha had been betrayed, treacherously supplanted by his own sister, it was still his duty to suppress his feelings, and watch the interests of Monica; the more especially that destiny might haply interknit them with his own.
And, at the very time that Jericho bethought him of a crowbar as the instrument of some tremendous deed, at the very time, these councillors, with Mrs. Jericho, Monica, and Agatha Pennibacker sat in the drawing-room; sat solemn in druidic circle. Indeed, the extreme caution—manifest in the looks and manner of all, gave a strange air of mystery to the gathering. Mrs. Jericho, though reduced to a single maid—who would not be turned out, though Jericho abused and threatened never so lustily—had resolved not to quit the premises. No: she had made up her mind; and if it must be, she would die in that drawing-room. Therefore, as her councillors one by one arrived, they were, to their own astonishment and passing disquiet, hushingly admitted across the threshold, and stealthily conducted to the presence chamber. “Gently, sir,”—said Wyse, the maid, as she admitted Candituft, the last comer, “gently, if you please: tread like a cat; for if the madman should hear you, I wouldn’t answer for your life.” Warned by such intelligence, Candituft—after an unconscious backward glance at the street door—stept, like any dancing-girl, upon his toes to the drawing-room.
“My dear friends,” said Mrs. Jericho, “in the great calamity that has fallen upon our house—upon our house—it is at least a consolation that I can cast myself upon your sympathies.”
“To be sure, certainly,” said Mizzlemist. “These are the times that try friends.”
“For myself, I could endure my fate without a murmur. I could follow poor Mr. Jericho,—I could follow him to the end of the world.”
“You mustn’t think of it, my dear madam,” said Doctor Stubbs. And then not content with a single declaration, he iterated with professional emphasis—“You must not think of it.’
“But I have daughters,” said Mrs. Jericho; and for a time she evidently felt she had said sufficient. For, she let her right arm fall, as with a weight of emotion; and statue-like, looked icily before her.
“It is of course your duty, madam, to take care of yourself,” said Commissioner Thrush. “Happily, we live in a Christian country; where we look upon woman—lovely woman—as something divine.”
“An angel in the rough. Humph?” said Bones.