ven out, all were seated once more, this time in the
dining-room, listening to loud remarks from Martha on the stairs, as she
declared that she was sure they would all be burned in their beds, and
that she always knew how it would be--remarks which continued till Aunt
Hannah went out, and then there was a low buzzing of voices, and all
became still.

And now, in spite of his burns, Deering spread out his plans once more,
and compared them for a long time in silence, while Vane and the doctor
looked on.

"Yes," he said at last, "there can be no mistake. Vane is right. This
speck was taken by the man who traced it for a stop-cock, and though
this pipe shows so plainly here in the plan, in the engine itself it is
right below here, and out of sight. You may say that I ought to have
seen such a trifling thing myself; but I did not, for the simple reason
that I knew every bit of mechanism by heart that ought to be there; but
of this I had no knowledge whatever. Vane, my lad, you've added I don't
know how many years to my life, and you'll never do a better day's work
as long as you live. I came down here to-day a broken and a wretched
man, but I felt that, painful as it would be, I must come and show my
old friend that I was not the scoundrel he believed."

The doctor uttered a sound like a low growl, and just then Aunt Hannah
came back looking depressed, weary, and only half-convinced, to hear
Deering's words.

"There is not a doubt about it now, Mrs Lee," he cried, joyfully.
"Vane has saved your little fortune."

"And his inheritance," said the doctor, proudly.

"No," cried Deering, clapping Vane on the shoulder, "he wants no
inheritance, but the good education and training you have given him.
Speak out, my lad, you mean to carve your own way through life?"

"Oh, I don't know," cried Vane; "you almost take my breath away. I only
found out that little mistake in your plans."

"And that was the hole through which your uncle's fortune was running
out. Now, then, answer my question, boy. You mean to fight your own
way in life?"

"Don't call it fighting," said Vane, raising one throbbing hand. "I've
had fighting enough to last me for years."

"Well, then, _carve_ your way, boy?"

"Oh, yes, sir, I mean to try. I say, uncle, what time is it?"

"One o'clock, my boy," said the doctor, heartily; "the commencement of
another and I hope a brighter day."

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

"I AM GLAD."

Trivial as Van