ed by his guide into a pleasant room, with
French windows opening on to a wide verandah, and a sunny lawn set round
with flowers. Books were arranged on shelves round the walls, newspapers
and magazines were on the table, and near the window, in a comfortable
chair, sat an old man with a volume in his hand. As Jorce entered he
stood up and shuffled forward with a senile smile of delight.
Evidently--and with reason, poor soul--he considered the doctor his very
good friend.

"Well, well!" said the cheery Jorce, "and how are you to-day, Mr.
Vrain?"

"I feel very well," replied Vrain in a soft, weak voice. "Who is this,
Doctor?"

"A young friend of mine, Mr. Vrain. He wishes to hear your story."

"Alas! alas!" sighed Vrain, his eyes filling with tears, "a sad story,
sir."

The father of Diana was of middle height, with white hair, and a long
white beard which swept his chest. On his cheek Lucian saw the cicatrice
of which Diana had spoken, and mainly by which the dead man had been
falsely identified as Vrain. He was very like Clear in figure and
manner; but, of course, the resemblance in the face was not very close,
as Clear had been clean shaven, whereas the real Vrain wore a beard. The
eyes were dim and weak-looking, and altogether Lucian saw that Vrain was
not fitted to battle with the world in any way, and quite weak enough to
become the prey of villains, as had been his sad fate.

"My name is Mark Vrain, young sir," said he, beginning his story without
further preamble. "I lived in Berwin Manor, Bath, with my wife Lydia,
but she treated me badly by letting another man love her, and I left
her. Oh, yes, sir, I left her. I went away to Salisbury, and was very
happy there with my books, but, alas! I took morph----"

"Vrain!" said Jorce, holding up his finger, "no!"

"Of course, of course," said the old man, with a watery smile, "I mean I
was very happy there. But Signor Ferruci, a black-hearted villain"--his
face grew dark as he mentioned the name--"found me out and made me come
with him to London. He kept me there for months, and then he brought me
here."

"Kept you where, Mr. Vrain?" asked Lucian gently.

The old man looked at him with a vacant eye. "I don't know," he said in
a dull voice.

"You came here from Bayswater," hinted Jorce.

"Yes, yes, Bayswater!" cried Vrain, growing excited. "I was there with a
woman they called my wife. She was not my wife! My wife is fair, this
woman was dark. Her name wa