Sometimes, I admit, he took sleeping draughts and—and—drugs."
"He was consumptive," said Lucian, noticing Diana's hesitation to speak plainly.
"His chest was weak, and consumption may have developed itself, but when I left England, almost two years back, he was certainly not suffering from that disease.
But I see how it is," said Diana, wringing her hands. "During my short absence, and under the tyranny of his wife, his physical health and moral principles gave way.
Drink and consumption! Ah!
God! were not these ills enough but what the woman must add murder to cap them both?"
"We do not know yet if she is guilty," said Lucian quietly. "Will you go on with your story, Miss Vrain?
Later on we can discuss these matters, when I am in possession of the facts. You say it was an evil hour when you went to Italy."
"It was indeed," said Diana sorrowfully, "for in Florence, at the Pension Donizetti, on the Lung Arno, we met with Lydia Clyne and her father.
They had only lately arrived in Italy—from New York, I suppose—but already she was said to be engaged to a needy Italian nobleman named Hercule Ferruci."
"Then I suppose the Clynes were rich," said Lucian, "for I know those Italian nobles too well to suspect that this Count Ferruci would pay attention to any one but an heiress."
"She was supposed to be rich, Mr. Denzil.
All Americans, for some reason, are supposed to be millionaires; but after she married my father I learned that Mr. Clyne had a very moderate fortune indeed, and his daughter nothing.
It was for that reason that Lydia threw over the count, to whom she was almost engaged, and began to pay attention to my father.
She heard talk of his estates in the gossip of the Pension, and believing him to be rich, she decided to marry him instead of throwing herself away in a romantic fit on Ferruci."
"Did she love this Italian?"
"Yes, I am sure she did; and, what is more, she loves him still!"
"What!
Is Count Ferruci still acquainted with Mrs. Vrain?"
"He is, as you shall hear. Miss Clyne, as I said, determined to make a rich marriage by becoming the second Mrs. Vrain.
I never liked her, knowing that she was false and frivolous; but though I did my best to stop the marriage, my father would not be controlled.
You know that this woman is pretty and fascinating."
"She is certainly the first, but not the last," interposed Lucian.
"At all events," resumed Diana disconsolately, "she was sufficiently fascinating to snare my poor foolish old father. We remained four months in Florence, and before we left it Lydia Clyne became Mrs. Vrain.
I could do nothing with my father, as he was possessed of the headstrong passion of an old man, and, moreover, Lydia had learned to know his weak points so well that she could twist him round her finger.
But, angered as I was at my father's folly, I loved him too well to leave him at the time, therefore I returned to Berwin Manor with the pair.
"There, Mr. Denzil," continued Miss Vrain, her face growing dark, "Lydia made my life so wretched, and insulted me so openly, that I was forced, out of self-respect, to leave the house.
I had some relatives in Australia, to whom I went out on a visit.
Alas!
I wish I had not done so; yet remain with my colonial cousins I did, until recalled to England by the terrible intelligence of my father's untimely end."
"So the marriage was a failure?"
"Yes; even before I left, Lydia openly neglected my father.
I am bound to say that Mr. Clyne, who is much the better of the two, tried to make her conduct herself in a more becoming manner.
But she defied him and every one else.
After my departure I received letters from a friend of mine, who told me that Lydia had invited Count Ferruci over on a visit.
My father, finding that he could do nothing, and seeing what a mistake he had made, returned to his books, and soon became ill again.
Instead of looking after him, Lydia—as I heard—encouraged him to study hard, hoping, no doubt, that he would die, and that she would be free to marry Count Ferruci.
Then my father left the house."
"Why?
That is a very necessary detail."
Diana thought for a moment, then shook her head despondingly.
"That I cannot explain," she said, with a sigh, "as I was in Australia at the time. But I expect that his brain grew weaker with study, and perhaps with the strong drink and drugs which this woman drove him to take.
No doubt the poor man grew jealous of Ferruci; and, unable to assert himself, seeing how ill he was, left the house and retired to Geneva Square to meet his death, as we know."
"But all this is supposition," remonstrated Lucian. "We really do not know why Mr. Vrain left the house."
"What does Lydia say?"
"She gives no feasible explanation."
"Nor will she. Oh!" cried Diana, "is there no way of getting at the truth of this matter?
I feel certain that Lydia and the Count are guilty!" "You have no proofs," said Denzil, shaking his head.
"No proofs!
Why, you said yourself that a stiletto——"