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. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her. " "This comes of fine feelings!" muttered Jonathan, contemptuously. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. You don't want me to spoil the story, do you?" "No.
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