“There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. 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 all to find that picture of Mary Remenham. "Because I knew what you wanted me for!" answered Thames firmly. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum.
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