Digital heart book

So close were the opposite crags that
the travellers could see a deer leap through the brush, the red of his
coat flashing through the gloomy depths. Below sped two packet-boats in
a stiff breeze.
"Friends or enemies?" queried Livingston. "I wish I were with them, for
I must confess the pleasures of horse travel for seventy-five miles must
be the climax of a daily habit to be fully appreciated. It is all very
well for Hamilton, who is on a horse twice every day; but as I am ten
years older and proportionately stiffer, I shall leave patriotism to the
rest of you for a day or two after our arrival."
Hamilton did not answer. He had become conscious of the delicate yet
piercing scent of violets. Wild violets had no perfume, and it was long
past their season. He glanced eagerly around, but without realizing what
prompted a quick stirring of his pulses. There was but one tree on the
crag, and he stood against it. Almost mechanically his glance sought its
recesses, and his hand reached forward to something white. It was a
small handkerchief of cambric and lace.


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