He lapsed into a state of second childhood, and, being deprived of the drugs which formerly had excited him to a state of frenzy, sank into a pitiable condition.
For days he would remain without speaking to any one, and even ceased to take a pleasure in his books.
Finally his limbs became paralysed, and so he spent the last few months of his wretched life in a bath-chair, being wheeled round the garden.
Still, his constitution was so strong that he lived for quite twelve months after his return to his home, and died unexpectedly in his sleep.
Diana was not sorry when he passed so easily away, for death was a merciful release of his tortured soul from his worn-out body.
So Mark Vrain died, and was buried, and after the funeral Diana went abroad, with Miss Priscilla Barbar for a companion.
In the meantime, Lucian stayed in grimy, smoky London, and worked hard at his profession.
He was beginning to be known, and in time actually received a brief or two, with which he did his best in court.
Still, he was far from being the successful pleader he hoped to be, for law, of all professions, is one which demands time and industry for the attainment of any degree of excellence.
It is rarely that a young lawyer can go to sleep and wake to find himself famous; he must crawl rather than run.
With diligence and punctuality, and observance of every chance, in time the wished-for goal is reached, although that goal, in nine cases out of ten, is a very moderate distance off.
Lucian did not sigh for a judgeship, or for a seat on the Woolsack; he was content to be a barrister with a good practice, and perhaps a Q.C.-ship in prospect.
However, during the year of Diana's mourning he did so well that he felt justified in asking her to marry him when she returned.
Diana, on her side, saw no obstacle to this course, so she consented.
"If you are not rich, my dear, I am," she said, when Lucian alleged his poverty as the only bar to their union, "and as money gives me no pleasure without you, I do not care to stay in Berwin Manor in lonely spinsterhood.
I shall marry you whenever you choose."
And Lucian, taking advantage of this gracious permission, did choose to be married, and that speedily; so within two years after the final closing of the Vrain case they became man and wife.
At the time they were seated in the garden, at the hour of sunset, they had only lately returned from their honeymoon, and were now talking over past experiences.
Miss Priscilla, who had been left in charge of the Manor during their absence, had welcomed them back with much joy, as she looked upon the match as one of her own making.
Now she had gone inside, on the understanding that two are company and three are none, and the young couple were left alone.
Hand in hand, after the foolish fashion of lovers, they sat under a leafy oak tree, and the sunlight glowed redly on their happy faces.
After a short silence Lucian looked at the face of his wife and laughed.
"What is amusing you, dear?" said Mrs. Denzil, with a sympathetic smile.
"My thoughts were rather pleasant than amusing," replied Lucian, giving the hand that lay in his a squeeze, "but I was thinking of Hans Andersen's tale of the Elder Mother Tree, and of the old couple who sat enjoying their golden wedding under the linden, with the red sunlight shining on their silver crowns."
"We are under an oak and wear no crowns," replied Diana in her turn, "but we are quite as happy, I think, although it is not our golden wedding."
"Perhaps that will come some day, Diana."
"Fifty years, my dear; it's a long way off yet," said Mrs. Denzil dubiously.
"I am glad it is, for I shall have (D.V.,) fifty years of happiness with you to look forward to.
Upon my word, Diana, I think you deserve happiness, after all the trouble you have had."
"With you I am sure to be happy, Lucian, but other people, poor souls, are not so well off."
"What other people?"
"Jabez Clyne, for one."
"My dear," said Lucian, seriously, "I hope I am not a hard man, but I really cannot find it in my heart to pity Clyne.
He was—and I dare say is—a scoundrel!"
"I don't deny that he acted badly," sighed Diana, "but it was for his daughter's sake, you know."
"There is a limit even to paternal affection, Diana.
And putting aside the wickedness of the whole conspiracy, I cannot pardon a man who deliberately put a weapon in the way of a man almost insane with drink, in order that he might kill himself.
The idea was diabolically wicked, my dear, and I think that Jabez Clyne, alias Wrent, quite deserves the long imprisonment he received."
"At all events, the Sirius Company got back their money, Lucian."
"So much as Lydia had not spent they got back, Diana; but when your father actually died they had to part with it very soon again, and some of it has gone into Lydia's pocket after all."
Diana blushed.
"It was only right, dear," she said, apologetically. "When my father made his new will, leaving it all to me, I did not think that Lydia, however badly she treated him, should be left absolutely penniless. And you know, Lucian, you agreed that I should share the assurance money with her."
"I did," replied Denzil. "Of two evils I chose the least, for if Lydia had not got a portion of the money she would have been quite capable of trying to upset the second will on the ground that Mr. Vrain was insane."
"Papa was not insane," reproved Diana. "He was weak, I admit, but at the time he made that will he had all his senses.
Besides, after all the scandal of the case, I don't think Lydia would have dared to go to law about it.
Still, it was best to give her the money, and I hear from Miss Priscilla that Lydia is now in Italy, and proposes to marry an Italian prince."
"She has flown higher than a count, then. Poor Ferruci killed himself for her sake."
"For his own, rather," exclaimed Mrs. Denzil energetically. "He knew that if he lived he would be punished by imprisonment, so chose to kill himself rather than suffer such dishonour. I believe he truly loved Lydia, certainly, but as he wanted the assurance money, I fancy he sinned quite as much for his own sake as for Lydia's."
"No doubt; and I dare say Lydia loved him, after her own fashion; yet she seems to have forgotten him pretty soon, and—as you say—intends to marry a prince.
I don't envy his highness."