The reader has probably not forgotten Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Atkinson--at whose house Edina had stayed so many years ago. Changes had taken place since then. Both the partners in the bank, Timothy and his cousin (they were only second cousins), were dead: and the firm had long been Atkinson and Street. For, upon the death of the two old men, Mr. George Atkinson, their sole successor, took his managing clerk, Edwin Street, into partnership. The bank was not one of magnitude--I think this has already been said--only a small, safe, private one. The acting head of it was, to all intents and purposes, Edwin Street: for Mr. George Atkinson passed the greater portion of his time abroad, coming home only every two or three years. George Atkinson was well off, and did not choose to worry himself with the cares of business: had the bank been given up to-morrow, he would have had plenty of money without it. During his later life, Mr. Timothy Atkinson had invested the chief portion of his savings in the purchase of an estate in Kent, called Eagles' Nest. He was not a rich man, as bankers go, never having been an equal partner in the firm; drawing from it in fact only a small share. His death was somewhat sudden, and occurred during one of his sojourns at Eagles' Nest. Mrs. Atkinson, his widow; not less portly than of yore, and still very much of an invalid; summoned her two brothers to attend the funeral: Major Raynor from Bath, Dr. Raynor from Trennach. The major went up at once: Dr. Raynor sent a refusal; his excuse, no idle one, being that he could not leave his patients. The season was one of unusual sickness, and he had no one to take his place. This refusal Mrs. Atkinson, never a very genial woman, or at all cordial with her brothers, resented. When Mr. Timothy Atkinson's will was opened, it was found that he had left everything he possessed to his wife unconditionally. Consequently the estate was now at her own disposal. Though a pretty, compact property, it was not a large one: worth some two thousand a-year, but capable of great improvement. On the day following the funeral, Mrs. Atkinson went up to her house in London, the major accompanying her. There she found George Atkinson, who had just arrived in England; which was an agreeable surprise to her. He had always been a favourite of hers, and he would be useful to her just now. "I shall leave it to you, George," she suddenly observed one morning, a few days after this, as they sat together looking over letters and papers. "Leave what to me, aunt?" For he had called her "aunt" in the old days, and often did so still. "Eagles' Nest." George Atkinson laid down the bundle of letters he was untying, and looked questioningly at the old lady, almost as though he doubted her words. "I am sure you cannot mean that." "Why not, pray?" "Because it is a thing that you must not think of doing. You have near relatives in your brothers. It is they who should benefit by your will."