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. "That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. . ’ He thought a wary look came into her face, but it was difficult to be sure. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him.
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