She paused for a moment. 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. ‘You wish a life of obedience? So be it, Mademoiselle Charvill. She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. Spurling in alarm. ‘What else was there to do? He paid off the servants and left old Pottiswick in charge, saying that the place would have to remain empty until the heir was found.
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