The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1902-12-24

group iust without. He Informed them
Of the melancholy event which had
occurred within. and they returned
sorrowfully to the kitchen, whispering
together as they went; while Mr.. VOL
sey, my father and !. and Dr.. Thurlow.
crossed the hall to the dining room.
the latter carrying the Turkish dag
gers and aigrette which he had taken
from the table, and large rusted iron
key which he had found on the foor
clo0e to where Adams had fallen.
CHAPTER XVI.
HoMELKss.
mo, Ernest, l am not hard on you;
my fault lies on the other side. I have
been weak. and am justly punished for
my weakness; but I am not too old to
reform. Henceforward will rule In
my own house; and anyone, not except
ing even yourself. who is indisposed to
submit to that rule. may betake him.
self elsewhere. Consider well my
words; they are not lightly spoken"
II protest that my conduct towards
you has never been anything but that
Of an affectionate son. Why has all
this trouble fallen upon me? Because
I have sought to make peace between
you and your brother. Was that q
bad task to set myself? have always
believed, and do now believe more
strongly than ever. that your brother
had no hand In the robbery Of the
seQuins."
My father smiled family. and re-
marked In q somewhat sarcastic tone
that he doubted whether should have
assumed the Christian part Of peace
maker so earnestly In this case II It
had not also been the way to closer
acquaintance with Miss Marsh. His
words aroused the Numbering anger
within me. and replied to them with
more warmth than discretion:
"What you say Is very true. When
inclination and duty point the same
way. the duty ia well performed"
"That has hardly been SO In this
case" said my father.
my purpose was defeated BY
natural though unexpected event; and
I am NO more responsible for the death
Of the old man we followed to the
grave yesterday than am responsible
for the death Of Charles the First.
DR.. Thurlow has told you that Adams
heart was weak, and that It was mir
acle he lived SO long as he did. It was
my iii fate to be the one to accuse
him Of his crime. Uncle Sans advice
was sound"
"very soundr' echoed my father bit
terry. And nearly all the property
found In the old mans room. including
the red Turkish chest, was placed there
with my consent when all the rest OF
the house was being overhauled by
your uncle's workmen"'
"How about the key which Adams
was about to give me the moment
before his final seizure?"
"Ay. how about It? Have you not
spent two days Intellectually trying to
1T It to every lock within these walls?
Ernest, you have entirely exhausted
my patience. must absolutely de-
cline to discuss with you again the
robbery Of the sequins; and repeat,
for the last time. my determination.
You may remain here as long as you
VIII, and oil I have Is yours, provided
that you cease 10 correspond with my
brother. his wife. ana Miss Marsh.
Unless you are prepared to adopt that
course you must no longer consider
this your home. daresay 1t pains you
TO be told this SO bluntly; but you
must reflect that man does not talk
IN this way to his only son without
pain to himself. and surely sever with
out great cause. I, at least, do not"
And with pale face, compressed lips,
and q strange light in his eyes. my
father passed out Of the room.
For q few moments I stood still.
dazed by the Importance Ct the decision
had SO Unexpectedly been called upon
to make. I never for q moment
doubted that I was very ill.used; on
the contrary, I considered myself most
unjustly punished. Ever since my un-
Gle was at Holdenhurst my policy had
been directed with view to effect his
reconciliation to rhy father and the
winning Of Constance Marsh for my
self; and such' desires, I conceived.
were commendable and natural In any
one circumstanced rs was. The terms
imposed by my father rs the price
Of his continued friendship and pro-
lection were too exacting for me to
entertain. Deeply as 1t grieved me to
finally quit that seQuestered spot where
was born. whose every nook recalled
some pleasant incident Of my child
hoods happy days when my father
had watched over me with tender
and anxious solicitude such rs a man
only bestows on motheriess child. !
was prepared to abandon 1t ut once
and for ever rather than renounce the
dear girl whose love had won. It was
hard for me to leave my home and live
estranged from my lifelong companion
and friend, the one to whom l owed
everything; but even that. hard as it
was, would be easier tilan the alterna.
tive offered to me. These considera-
tons brought tears to my eyes. but
my purpose was never for moment
weakened. Suddenly reused myself
from the reverie into which I had