The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1902-10-15

had merged into summer, which IN iIs
turn had declined and died. and now
the autumn was at hand.
One glorious September morning
was listlessly gazing through the win
dow which led out on to the veranda,
my hands clasped behind me. From
that spot It was last beheld my uncle
Sam as he stood in the roadway con-
templating his birthplace, and my po-
siticn induced q train Of thought which
could hardly be said ever to be absent
from my mind. "Pshaw!' muttered,
turning suddenly round and walking
quickly away; II am a very fool.
Here am I pining miserably, wasting
my life In unproductive thought II
action based on impulse be bad. surely
prolonged contemplation out Of which
no actor grows must be worse.
Though Constance Marsh can never
be mine; though my father and uncle
can never be reconciled; I will not con-
sumo my days in useless self-aflic-
ton. I will travel; ! will 60 to Amer
lea: perhaps 1 viii call ON my uncle;
perhaps"
Father" I asked. q minute Later,
rs / stood by his side in the study.
where he sat examining an account
book; do you know what next Sun
day VIII be?"
My father looked up ut me, and his
face wore q puzzled. querulous ex-
preston. "Yes. my boy" he replied.
and as he spoke 1 observed that his
hair had grown very grey Of late; Il
have not forgotten 1t. On Sunday you
will complete your twentieth year."
'It is of that was thinking" I said.
And have also thought that q
change Of scene would be good for me.
As you know. I have been very
wretched since that affair with uncle
quite unable to tx my attention on
any matter save that from which l
would gladly divert 1t. II you can bear
the expense. and do not object to my
leaving home for awhile, think
should like to travel for few
months"
Ny father looked up sharply. "Why
don't you speak plainly. and say out
right that you are tired of your father
and long to be with your uncle" he
asked.
because II ! said so I should lie,"
l retorted warmly; "nnd that Is what
1 never did yet. have told you my
opinion Of my uncle, and I think as
well Of him now as ever. But that cir
cumstance does not diminish the Of
fection and respect ! bear for you.
And / may tell you. that I have aban-
doned all hope of ever being anything
more to Miss Marsh than am ut this
minute. Indeed. 1t Is to confirm me
in my present mood that I seek the
permission and means to travel"
Il take II as most unflial. most un-
kind In you, Ernest" continued my
father in On injured tone, regardless
Of the declaration had Just made.
that In all these months that have
elapsed since your uncle was here you
have never thought proper to ask me
to show you the proofs Of his perfdy.
though / volunteered to do 80 at the
tine. You stated then land now you
reiterate) your belief In you uncle's In
nocence. What IL the inference? That
yorr father :s careless in q matter Of
the utmost gravity, on which the honor
Of his only brother wholly depends"
Surely you don't wish to open that
question agninr / exclaimed IN dis
may.
Certainly ( do" continued my
father. You tell me- you wish to
travel-at your age a natural desire.
which ! heartily approve and will pro-
vide money for. But you cannot lenve
here with my good will until you have
heard and seen the things by which
l justify my attitude towards your
uncle. Having heard and seen them,
you will be at liberty to retain or
abandon your present ideas respect
Ing the robbery"
There Is nothing I am less willing
to be convinced Of than my uncle's
guilt. but let 1t be rs you say" ! as
sented: and. taking q chair. seated
myself close to the desk.
My father at once thrust his hand
into his pocket. drew forth three coins,
and laid them In front Of me. See"
said he: there you have three Vene-
tian sequins. Do me the favor to ex-
anime them"
picked up one Of the coins; it was
Of gold. and as large as a helfpenny.
but much thinner. On one side was q
representation Of q shield, with the
words, "Sanctus Marcus Venetus
T. :" and on the other side cross.
with the words, "Petrus Lando; Dux
Venetian + :" The coins. which
were In excellent condition. were ex.
actly alike. Having scrutinized each
very carefully with the aid Of read
ing glass, I handed them back to my
father. who paused, as II expecting me
to make some comment, but remained
silent.
"Pierto LAndo." said my father.
twas Doge Of Venice from 1888 to
1916: 80 you will agree with me that
abundance Of sequlns such as these
must have been in circulation in Ven
Ice when your ancestor. Roger True
| man, was there a century later"
nodded assent. and my father con-
tinued:
| IL am informed by John Adams