Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. And what will they do, and where will they go?" "With me—the both of them. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs.
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