"What I have told you," said the lawyer,
after a pause, "is as true as gospel; only too
true. Do you think that a dying woman would
tell such a gratuitous lie? Would she peril her
soul—her soul, sir, mind that!—for the sake of
a bit of mystification? There are certain things
which we may fairly pronounce impossible to
human nature, even to human nature in the
justice room, and that this statement could be
a lie, is one of them. Look at it in a matter-of-
fact light. Take it as I meant it to be, a
tremendous power in your own hands, with
which you may do anything. The field is yours,
and you may win the race in a canter. I know
that you have been disappointed in your lady's
not coming forward to help you a little more
generously; but now you have a pressure—
pounds to the square inch, sir—and can make
her do what is right, sir."

"You have taken a great deal of trouble about
me, Jones," said Laurence, huskily; yet with the
sneer, very well concealed, habitual to him when
speaking to Clarke Jones.

"Why, you see, you have always been kind
and civil to me; and when this thing came quite
accidentally in my way—I am an Engley man,
you know—I said to myself, 'Jones, here is
now an opportunity of doing young Mr. Grantley
a good turn. He has done you many a
one, and now's your time.' By Jove, sir, I
was proud to do it. It was what they call a
labour of love to hunt up that evidence and put
it in your hands gratis; and I say again, I was
proud to do it, sir!"

"But, Jones, my good fellow, I cannot take
all this as serious," said Laurence. "How
easily such things are got up! A threat for
money, political spite, old family feuds, and a
story like this, takes no more time to build than
a house of cards."

"Try it," said Jones, bringing his hand
down heavily on the table, "try it! What
good are they if they are not true? Where's
your hold?  Where's your trump card? You are
nowhere if I have brought you only a mare's-
nest. I had better by far have stayed at home
and attended to my clients."

"Oh! they are all the better for your absence,
Mr. Jones," said Laurence, trying to assume
that debonair insolence of his which sometimes
succeeded well, but which now utterly failed.

"Very likely, sir," said Mr. Jones, composedly;
"but I only say again, try it; just
whisper the name in your sleep, maybe, or when
you will— just say in her ear, ' My dear, did you
ever know Jane Gilbert, of Eagley?' and then
see if it is true or not true."

"Tricked! tricked! every way!" muttered
Laurence, clenching his fist upon the chimney-
piece.

"Yes," said Mr. Jones, " she was an astute
young lady; knew her best cards, and played
'em boldly."

"One word more, Jones: true or false—
and remember, I do not accept it as absolute
fact" (Mr. Jones smiled blandly), "you will be
silent, of course?"

"Sir!" said the bull-necked lawyer, in a tone
of deep feeling. " On my life!" And he bowed
limself out of the room.

"The small end of the wedge is in at last,"
said he, as he mounted his horse and rode off,
looking up to the drawing-room window, and
lifting his hat to Mrs. Grantley, who still watched
her creatures in the aquarium.

Laurence sat in the library till the dinner-bell
rang, lost in thought, but preparing for decisive
action. He felt that a home life together was
now impossible, and what he had to determine
was the manner of the separation. Before he
came in to dinner, his course was decided, and
his plans laid. Annie noticed that he was very
pale, and even more silent than usual; that his
eyes never by chance once met hers; and that he
had a fixed and stony manner. But Annie was
not impressionable, and cared nothing for what
people thought or felt, so long as they did not
worry her.

CHAPTER V.

"You look ill, Annie," said her husband, at
breakfast the next day, looking, not directly at
her, but just past her pale, lustreless hair.

"Nonsense, I am not ill," said Annie,
ungraciously. She took a pride in being doubly
surly whenever Laurence seemed disposed to
be kindly, and liked to vex him for the pleasure
of seeing him lose his temper. This is a treat
sometimes, to cold natures.

"I should wish you to see a doctor, though,"
said Laurence, in the same wooden manner.

"Don't pretend to make a fuss about me.
I am well enough."

"You are not well, Annie."

"Do you wish me to be ill? and has that
wish fathered your thought?" Annie asked,
coldly. " Give me the toast, and leave me alone.
I am well enough."

"Yet I must have my own way in this; I
must have you see Dr. Downs."

"I don't want to see him." She lifted her
dull eyes. " You are wonderfully anxious about
me to-day, Laurence."

"That was one of your ungracious speeches,"
said Laurence, smoothly, while a look of
bitterest hatred flashed like fire over his face.

"Truth is generally ungracious," said Annie;
"and I am not easily taken in."

Laurence got up and left the room. He felt
it dangerous to stay there longer. Her defiant
insolence seemed almost to court her own
destruction.

"It must end! it must end!" he said, aloud.
"God help her!"

There was a danger lying before them both,
which made Laurence feel like a fiend; but what
he was now planning, though a cruel, was at
lenst a safe, alternative. Safe in every way:
safe for honour's sake; safe for her life; safe
for him; cruel, yes, and hard and bitter to be
borne; but, after all, was there not perhaps a
reason? Was it all only expediency, or was there
not necessity?

Unable to remain longer in the house, Laurence
took his dog and gun, and wandered up to