"I AM GLAD."
Trivial as Vane's discovery may seem, it was the result of long months
and study of applied science, and certain dearly bought experiences, and
though Mr Deering blamed himself for not having noticed the little
addition which had thwarted all his plans and brought him to the verge
of ruin, he frankly avowed over and over again that he was indebted to
his old friend's nephew for his rescue from such a perilous strait.
He was off back to town that same day, and in a week the doctor, who was
beginning to shake his head and feel doubtful whether he ought to expect
matters to turn out so well, received a letter from the lawyer, to say
that there would be no need to call upon him for the money for which he
had been security.
"But I do not feel quite safe yet, Vane, my boy," he said, "and I shall
not till I really see the great success. Who can feel safe over an
affair which depends on the turning on or off of a tap."
But he need not have troubled himself, for he soon had ample surety that
he was perfectly safe, and that he need never fear having to leave the
Little Manor.
Meanwhile matters went on at the rectory in the same regular course, Mr
Syme's pupils working pretty hard, and there being a cessation of the
wordy warfare that used to take place with Distin, Macey, and Gilmore,
and their encounters, in which Vane joined, bantering and being bantered
unmercifully; but Distin was completely changed. The sharp bitterness
seemed to have gone out of his nature, and he became quiet and subdued.
Vane treated him just the same as of old, but there was no warm display
of friendship made, only on Distin's part a steady show of deference and
respect till the day came when he was to leave Greythorpe rectory for
Cambridge.
It was just at the last; the good-byes had been said, and the fly was
waiting to take him to the station, when he asked Vane to walk on with
him for a short distance, and bade the fly-man follow slowly.
Vane agreed readily enough, wondering the while what his old
fellow-pupil would say, and he wondered still more as they walked on and
on in silence.
Then Vane began to talk of the distance to Cambridge; the college life;
and of how glad he would be to get there himself; starting topics till,
to use his own expression, when describing the scene to his uncle, he
felt "in a state of mental vacuum."
A complete silence had fallen upon them at last, when they were a couple
of miles on the white chalky road, and the fly-man was wondering when
his passenger was going to get in, as Vane looked at his watch.
"I say, Dis, old chap," he said, "you'll have to say good-bye if you
mean to catch that train."
"Yes," cried Distin, hoarsely, as he caught his companion's hand. "I
had so much I wanted to say to you, about all I have felt during those
past months, but I can't say it. Yes," he cried passionately, "I must
say this: I always hated you, Vane. I couldn't help it, but you killed
the wretched feeling that day in the wood, and ever since I have fought
with myself in silence, but so hard."
"Oh, I say," cried Vane; "there, there, don't say any more. I've
forgotten all that."
"I must," cried Distin; "I know. I always have felt since that you
cannot like me, and I have been so grateful to you for keeping silence
about that miserable, disgraceful episode in my life--no, no, look me in
the face, Vane."
"I won't. Look in your watch's face," cried Vane, merrily, "and don't
talk any more such stuff, old chap. We quarrelled, say, and it was like
a fight, and we shook hands, and it was all over."
"With you, perhaps, but not with me," said Distin. "I am different.
I'd have given anything to possess your frank, manly nature."
"Oh, I say, spare my blushes, old chap," cried Vane, laughing.
"Be serious a minute, Vane. It may be years before we meet again, but I
must tell you now. You seem to have worked a change in me I can't
understand, and I want you to promise me this--that you will write to
me. I know you can never think of me as a friend, but--"
"Why can't I?" cried Vane, heartily. "I'll show you. Write? I should
think I will, and bore you about all my new weathercock schemes. Dis,
old chap, I'm such a dreamer that I've no time to see what people about
me are like, and I've never seen you for what you really are till now
we're going to say good-bye. I am glad you've talked to me like this."
Something very like a sob rose in Distin's throat as they stood, hand
clasped in hand, but he was saved from breaking down.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the fly driver, "but we shan't never catch that
train."
"Yes; half a sovereign for you, if you get me there," cried Distin,
snatching open the fly, and leaping in; "good-bye, old chap!" he cried
as Vane banged the door and he gripped hands, as the latter ran beside
the fly, "mind and write--soon--good-bye--good-bye."
And Vane stood alone in the dusty road looking after the fly till it
disappeared.
"Well!" he cried, "poor old Dis! Who'd have thought he was such a good
fellow underneath all that sour crust. I _am_ glad," and again as he
walked slowly and thoughtfully back:--"I _am_ glad."