While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. 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. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively.
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