“Then I have you to thank for saving my life.”
“Well,” said Distin, “you saved mine. There, don’t talk; I won’t. I want to go and write to the doctor that you are mending now. By-and-by, when you are better, we must have plenty of talks about the old Lincolnshire days.”
Distin was holding Vane’s hands as he spoke, and his voice was cheery, though the tears were in his eyes.
“And so,” whispered Vane, thoughtfully, “I owe you my life.”
“I owe you almost more than that,” said Distin, huskily. “Vane, old chap, I’ve often longed for us to meet again.”
It was a curious result after their early life. Vane often corresponded with Gilmore and Macey, but somehow he and Distin became the staunchest friends.
“I can’t understand it even now,” Vane said to him one day when they were back in England, and had run down to the old place again. “Fancy you and I being companions here.”
“The wind has changed, old Weathercock,” cried Distin, merrily. Then, seriously: “No, I’ll tell you, Vane; there was some little good in me, and you made it grow.”