"No. I have said so. We hold nothing but her current account. That has been replenished by her when necessary; but we have had nothing more. It is certainly strange where the vouchers for her property can be. I suppose," added the banker, more slowly, "she did not invest the money in some bubble scheme, and lose it?" "The very same thought was crossing my mind," spoke his brother. "But you don't think that probable, do you, Street?" cried Major Raynor, turning rather hot. A pause ensued. Lawyer Street was evidently thinking out the probabilities. They waited, and watched him. "I must confess that circumstances look suspicious," he said at length. "Else why so much secrecy?" "Secrecy?" "Yes. If Mrs. Atkinson placed the money in any well-known safe investment, why was she not open about it: get me to act for her, and lodge the securities at the bank? She did neither: she acted for herself--as we must suppose--and kept the transaction to herself. The inference is, that it was some wild-goose venture that she did not care to speak about. Women are so credulous." "What a gloomy look-out!" put in the major. "Oh, well, we have only been glancing at possibilities, you know," observed Mr. Street. "I dare say the securities will be found--and the money also." "Right, John," assented the banker. "Had Mrs. Atkinson found her money was being lost, she would assuredly have set you to work to recover it. I think we may safely assume that, Major Raynor!" CHAPTER XVI. COMMOTION. "Be sure you stay until we return," had been the charge left to Edina Raynor by her uncle. But the major found himself detained longer than he had expected, and she went away from Spring Lawn without again seeing him or Charles. During the short period of her absence from Trennach--nine days--her father had changed so much for the worse that she started when she saw him. As he came out of his house to welcome her, all Edina's pulses stood still for a moment, and then coursed on with a bound. In a gradual, wasting illness, not very apparent to those around, it is only on such an occasion as this that its progress can be judged of. "Papa, you have been ill!" "True, Edina, but I am mending a little now." "Why did you not send for me?" "Nay, my dear, there was not any necessity for that." A substantial tea-table had been spread, and in a very few minutes Edina was presiding at it; her travelling things off, her soft brown hair smoothed, her countenance wearing its usual cheerful gravity. Not a gravity that repelled: one that insensibly attracted, for it spoke of its owner's truth, and faith, and earnestness, of her goodwill to all about her. Sitting there, dispensing cups of tea to the doctor and Frank, she was ready to hear the news of all that had transpired in the village during her absence.