Jane, or to tell the world the truth about her
birth; so she flung the letter into the fire,
and never vouchsafed a reply. And when Mrs.
Jones died, twelve years afterwards, her
request was still unanswered, and the mother was
still living in the parish workhouse. Annie at
thirty was no softer than Annie at eighteen; the
wife of Laurence Grantley was not more
compassionate than the unmarried heiress of the
Sibsons had been. Just before her death, Mrs.
Jones told her son the story; and then Clarke
thought, how he saw his way to influence and
profit, by making himself and Laurence Grantley
co-partners in the secret: so he brought the
news to the Hall, as we have seen, and struck
the first blow on the wedge which was to raise
the whole fabric of his fortunes. And now, by
the strangest circumstances, Laurence Grantley
and he were still more closely connected; and
he had the power to make his bargain what he
chose. So, Laurence gave him this affair of
Jane Gilbert to manage, as a kind of instalment
of the future; and Clarke Jones kept
mysterious silence, and gave no hint to any one.
He was playing for larger stakes than the mere
pleasure of tattling.

CHAPTER VIII.

LAURENCE accepted his position bravely. If
Clarke Jones was not the man to let go a hold
once obtained, Laurence was not the man to let
the world know he was so held. It was not his way
to own to coercion of any kind: he would have
worn handcuffs as if they had been ornamental
toys, and always made a merit of yielding when
he could not resist, thus preserving at least the
semblance of free will. He never let Clarke
Jones see that he felt himself in his power;
indeed, the lawyer was not quite certain that
Laurence knew he was in his power, for nothing
could make him betray himself. Let Jones
probe him as he would, not a muscle ever
quivered, not the faintest glance betrayed uneasiness,
not the lightest word expressed consciousness.
Off-hand, cordial, kindly, he seemed rather
to court Clarke's society from choice than to
take it as thrust upon him by the untoward force
of circumstances. Everything was done so freely,
there was such a grace and richness of manner,
such a royal kind of familiarity, that Clarke Jones
was puzzled: not able to determine to his own
satisfaction how much was real and how much
simulated in their intercourse. What was real,
however, was the good which he determined to
get for himself, and the use he would make of
his knowledge. Accordingly, he set to work,
running his mines here and there, till he had
completely honeycombed Laurence Grantley's
life, and filled both his hands to overflowing.
He got everything he wished; Laurence always
forestalling the request, and proposing, apparently
out of pure good will, what he knew would
be demanded of him. Thus, Clarke Jones coveted
the stewardship of the Grantley estates, and
Laurence, with consummate tact, provided for
Deedham, the faithful old servant who had given
him his first lessons in fishing and shooting, and
who loved him like a son, raising him to an
apparently higher post with a higher salary,
whereby the old man was flattered, not
humiliated; and then Clarke Jones was asked to
become general agent, with an acting bailiff
under him. Then, Warner, the London lawyer,
whose family had been the Grantley lawyers for
three generations, gradually lost his Grantley
business. Bit by bit, it slipped out of his hands
into Mr. Jones's, who manipulated it prettily,
and what is called "feathered his nest" with it
in grand style. But all these transfers were
made so naturally that Jones could never say he
had put on the screw, and such and such were
the results. It was a great power that Laurence
had, of making the best of a thing. But he felt
his bondage painfully. It was an ever present
sense of degradation which at times ate away
his very manliness, though he wrapped gay silken
bandages round his chains to prevent their
clanking audibly, and hummed his prison tunes
to lofty words.

The gentlemen in the neighbourhood spoke
much of this excessive intimacy between the
highest and the lowest, the most refined and the
most vulgar of the district. Old Mrs. Grantley
loftily remonstrated; but Laurence compressed
his lips, and said that he "knew what he was
about, and that what he did, was for the best.
He allowed no further remark." Strange to
say, Mrs. Grantley forbore to renew the
conversation. So Clarke Jones drove a thriving
trade with his two secrets; got money in every
possible manner, legally and illegally—by fair
work fairly paid for, and by unfair wages for
no work; got Laurence Grantley to back him
in speculations of various kinds; got Laurence
to introduce him everywhere, and to make
him a position unattainable else; got his
influence, his credit, his hand; and, on the strength
of all this, rose rapidly to prosperity, and was
soon suffered to take a recognised place in the
society of gentlemen. But vinegar mouths
were still made at him, and this last Grantley
pill was bitter swallowing to many.

The old Hall had changed mistresses to some
good. Queenly and expensive, Mrs. Grantley
was a very different person to mean Annie
Sibson, who counted her half-crowns like
drops of blood, and thought all pleasures
that cost money, sinful follies. The old house
warmed up again into something of its native
brightness. Dinners and balls, luncheon
parties, pic-nics, archery meetings, were given
in artistic succession: duly regulated by the
strictest laws of "mitigated grief," as
expounded by Mrs. Grantley. And once more
The Family became the centre of gravitating
society, the loadstone to which all the floating
particles were attracted. May Sefton was
a frequent visitor: beautiful May, with her
rose-cheeks rounding into brighter beauty, and
her blue eyes full of liquid light: May, with
the love which had been so long germinating in,
her heart, now blossoming out over her life, and,
from a fancy and a sentiment, becoming a
presence and a power: May, in all the rich