A minute, under the darkening
arches of the forest road, he saw her, still. Then the car swung round
a bend, and vanished.
Had she waved her hand at him? He could not tell. Motionless he stood, a
while, then cleared away the barrier of branches that obstructed the
road, took up his knapsack, and with slow steps returned to the
sugar-house.
Almost on the threshold, a white something caught his eye. He picked it
up. Her handkerchief! A moment he held the dainty, filmy thing in his
rough hand. A vague perfume reached his nostrils, disquieting and
seductive.
"More than eighteen dollars an ounce, perhaps!" he exclaimed, with
sudden bitterness; but still he did not throw the handkerchief away.
Instead, he looked at it more keenly. In one corner, the fading light
just showed him some initials. He studied them, a moment.
"C. J. F." he read. Then, yielding to a sudden impulse, he
folded the kerchief and put it in his pocket.
He entered the sugar-house, to make sure, before departing, that he had
left no danger of fire behind him.
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