In my early childhood—if it may be called so—I was beaten and starved, set to beg, forced to thieve, and never had a kind word said to me or a kind deed done to me.
No wonder I grew up a callous, hardened ruffian. As the twig is bent, so will the tree grow.
"Out of this depth of degradation I was rescued by a philanthropist, who had me fed and clothed and educated.
I had at his hands every chance of leading a respectable life, but I did not want to become smug and honest.
My early training was too strong for that, so after a year or two of enforced goodness I ran away to sea.
The vessel I embarked on as a stowaway was bound for America.
When I was discovered hiding among the cargo we were in mid-ocean, and there was nothing for it but to carry me to the States.
Still, to earn my passage, I was made cabin-boy to a ruffianly captain, and once more tasted the early delights of childhood, viz., kicks, curses, and starvation.
When the ship arrived in New York I was turned adrift in the city without a penny or a friend.
"It is not my purpose to describe my sufferings, as such description will do no good and interest nobody; particularly as the purpose of this confession is to declare the Vrain conspiracy and its failure; so I will pass over my early years as speedily as possible.
To be brief: I became a newsboy, then a reporter; afterwards I went West and tried my luck in San Francisco, later on in Texas; but in every case I failed, and became poorer and more desperate than ever.
In New Orleans I set up a newspaper and had a brief time of prosperity, when I married the daughter of a hotelkeeper, and for the time was happy.
"Then the Civil War broke out, and I was ruined.
My wife died, leaving me with one child, whom I called Lydia, after her, but that child died also, and I was left alone.
After the war I prospered again for a time, and married a woman with money.
She also died, and left a daughter, and this child I again called Lydia, in memory of my first wife, who was the only woman I ever truly loved.
I placed little Lydia in a convent for education, and devoted my second wife's money to that purpose; then I started out for the fifth or sixth time to make my fortune.
Needless to say, I did not make it.
"I pass over a long period of distress and prosperity, hopes and fears.
One day I was rich, the next poor; and Fate—or whatever malignant deity looked after my poor affairs—knocked me about most cruelly, tossed me up, threw me down, and at the end of a score of years left me comparatively prosperous, with an income, in English money, of ?500 a year.
With this I returned to Washington to seek Lydia, and found her grown up into a beautiful and clever girl.
Her beauty gave me the idea that I might marry her well in Europe as an American heiress.
So for Europe we started, and after many years of travel about the Continent we settled down in the Pension Donizetti in Florence.
There Lydia was admired for her beauty and wit, and courted for her money!
But save for my ten pounds a week, which we eked out in the most frugal manner, we had not a penny between us.
"It was in Florence that we met with Vrain and his daughter, who came to stay at the Pension.
He was a quiet, harmless old gentleman, a trifle weak in the head, which his daughter said came from over-study, but which I discovered afterwards was due to habitual indulgence in morphia and other drugs.
His daughter watched him closely, and—not having a will of his own by reason of his weak brain—he submitted passively to her guidance. I heard by a side wind that Vrain was rich, and had a splendid mansion in the country; so I hinted to Lydia that as it seemed difficult to get her a young husband, it would be better for her to marry a rich old one.
At that time Lydia was in love with, and almost engaged to, Count Ercole Ferruci, a penniless Italian nobleman, who courted my pretty girl less for her beauty than for her supposed wealth.
When I suggested that Lydia should marry Vrain, she refused at first to entertain the idea; but afterwards, seeing that the man was old and weak, she thought it would be a good thing as his wife to inherit his money, and then, as his widow, to marry Ferruci.
I think, also, that the pointed dislike which Diana Vrain manifested for us both—although I am bound to say she hated Lydia more than she did me—had a great deal to do with my daughter marrying Vrain. However, the end of it was that Lydia broke off her engagement with Ferruci—and very mad he was at losing her—and married Mark Vrain in Florence.
"After the marriage the old man, who at that time was quite infatuated with Lydia, made a will leaving her his assurance money of ?20,000, but the house near Bath, and the land, he left to Diana.
I am bound to say that Lydia behaved very well in this matter, as she could have had all the money and land, but she was content with the assurance money, and did not rob Diana Vrain of her birthright.
Yet Diana hated her, and still hates her; but I ask any one who reads this confession if my dear Lyddy is not the better woman of the two?
Who dares to say that such a sweet girl is guilty of the crimes she is charged with?
"Well, the marriage took place, and we all journeyed home to Berwin Manor; but here things went from bad to worse.
Old Vrain took again to his morphia, and nothing would restrain him; then Lydia and Diana fought constantly, and each wished the other out of the house.
I tried to keep the peace, and blamed Lyddy—who is no saint, I admit—for the way in which she was treating Diana. With Miss Vrain I got on very well, and tried to make things easy for her; but in the end the ill-will between her and my Lydia became so strong that Diana left the house, and went out to Australia to live with some relatives.
"So Lydia and I and old Vrain were left alone, and I thought that everything would be right.
So it would have been if Lydia had not put matters wrong again by inviting Ferruci over to stay.
But she would insist upon doing so, and although I begged and prayed and commanded her not to have so dangerous a man in the house, she held her own; and in the face of my remonstrances, and those of her husband, Count Ferruci came to stay with us.
"From the moment he entered the house there was nothing but trouble.
Vrain became jealous, and, mad with drugs he took, often treated Lydia with cruelty and violence, and she came to me for protection.
I spoke to Vrain, and he insulted me, wishing to turn me out of the house; but for Lydia's sake I remained.
Then a Miss Tyler came to stay, and falling in love with Count Ferruci, grew jealous of Lydia, and made trouble with Vrain.
The end of it was that after a succession of scenes, in which the old man behaved like the lunatic he was, he left the house, and not one of us knew where he went to.
That was the last Lydia saw of her husband.
"After that trouble I insisted that Count Ferruci should leave the house; also Miss Tyler.
They both did, but came back at times to pay Lydia a visit.
We tried to find Vrain, but could not, as he had vanished altogether.