the floor when I came. I put them back in place, but found nothing of value among those that remained. My father must have removed those of importance.
"Possibly he carried them with him?"
She leaned her head on her hand, her eyes thoughtful.
"I think he once told me they were left in charge of a banker at Charleston—an old friend. It would be too dangerous to carry them about with him in the field. You see I do not know very much about his affairs," she explained. "I was away at school when the war broke out, and we have only met briefly since. My father did not talk freely of his personal matters even to me. I learned of his feud with Cowan by accident."
"It was a feud then?"
"On one side at least. My father was shot at, and several of our outhouses burned. The trouble arose over the title to property. Cowan," she explained, "was a squatter on land which had belonged to our family ever since my grandfather first settled here. We had title from Virginia, but the tract granted had never been properly surveyed. My father had it done, and discovered that Ned Cowan and two of his sons occupied a part of our land with no legal right."
