er, got him on board a boat, and by easy stages he
was taken down to Rio, where he awoke from his feverish dream, weak as a
child, wasted almost to nothing, into what appeared to him another
dream, for he was in a pleasantly-shaded bedroom, with someone seated
beside him, holding his hand, and gazing eagerly into his wandering
eyes.

"Vane," he said, in a low, excited whisper; "do you know me."

"Distin!" said Vane feebly, as he gazed in the handsome dark face of the
gentleman bending over him.

"Hah!" was ejaculated with a sigh of content; "you'll get over it now;
but I've been horribly afraid for days."

"What's been the matter?" said Vane, feebly. "Am I at the rectory?
Where's Mr Syme? And my uncle?"

"Stop; don't talk now."

Vane was silent for a time; then memory reasserted itself. He was not
at Greythorpe, but in Brazil.

"Why, I was taken ill up the river. Have you been nursing me?"

"Yes, for weeks," said Distin, with a smile.

"Where am I?"

"At Rio. In my house. I am head here of my father's mercantile
business."

"But--"

"No, no, don't talk."

"I must ask this: How did I get here?"

"I heard that you were ill, and had you brought home that's all. I was
told that the overseer with the surveying expedition was brought down
ill--dying, they said, and then I heard that his name was Vane Lee. Can
it be old Weathercock? I said; and I went and found that it was, and--
well, you know the rest."

"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;