"I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. She felt as if she had struck them unawares. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. You have been burning paper, I see. Until the last few months. Then the long lashes sank demurely over them. 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. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree.
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