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.