Edina stood at the gate, and watched them up the avenue, Charley carrying the black portmanteau. In her steadfast eyes there lay a certain expression of _rest_. With her habit of looking forward to the dark side of things as well as to the bright, Edina had never felt quite assured upon the point of the major's inheritance: it was welcome, indeed, to hear that this was placed beyond doubt. What would that helpless, improvident family have done without it! A hand stole itself within Edina's arm. She turned her soft dark eyes, to see Mrs. Raynor; who looked, as usual, very mild about the face, and very limp about the dress. The children had rushed indoors again, and were restlessly running from room to room in the excitement of their new prospects, discussing the wonders that would become theirs, now wealth and greatness had fallen upon them. Their minds were picturing the future residence at Eagles' Nest all gold, and glitter, and gladness: life was to be as one long Lord Mayor's day. "It is a great strain removed, Edina!" "What is, Mary?" For Edina had never called this young wife of her uncle's "Aunt." It had been "Mary" from the first. They were not so very many years removed from one another in age. "All the distress and contriving about money. I have never said much to you, for where was the use; but you don't know what a strain it has been, what shifts we have been put to." "I do," said Edina. "I can only too readily imagine it. For many years the same strain lay on me and papa: at Trennach, and before we went to Trennach. It is removed in a degree, for the necessity for saving does not exist as it did, but we are careful still. I learnt economy in my pinafores, Mary. Your children could not understand my coming here in Tuppin's van yesterday, when I might have hired a fly: but it saved five shillings. Papa urges economy upon me still, and practises it himself. I think he does so for my sake. "Ah! what _could_ you do, Edina, if anything happened to your father, and you were left without the means to live?" Edina laughed at the consternation expressed in Mrs. Raynor's voice. To this really helpless woman, the being left without means seemed the very greatest of all earthly calamities. "I should have no fear for myself, Mary. I could go out as useful companion; or governess; or even as housekeeper. Few places where I could be practically useful would come amiss to me." "I am sure of that," said Mrs. Raynor. They were strolling across the grass-plat arm-in-arm, Mrs. Raynor stooping to pluck a flower here and there: a June rose; a pink; a sprig of syringa. Silence had supervened. Mrs. Raynor was puzzling her brains over the children's mourning: what would, and what would not be necessary, and how it would all get made. "What are you going to do with Charles?" suddenly asked Edina. "With Charles! I'm sure I don't know. Why, Edina?"