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was one of those unfortunate beings whose life had known no smile. He had been brought up in idleness, yet without love, the child of a selfish, capricious mother, and a father who only knew how to grow rich, and was thoroughly heartless.

By the humble dwellers of Roccamarina, little Andrea was called from his childhood "Master Andrea," for he was the son of Master Antonio, who would, as an only son, come to inherit the busy blacksmith's forge on the shore, which yielded a good income with small trouble. In a word, he was a lad who was much envied, because it was known that, besides the forge, there was a good house and various farms which his father was purchasing in the neighbourhood, and that some day he would be the owner of some thousand lire.

How it happened is not known, but one day Master Andrea, who was in the city studying as a gentleman, was summoned in all haste to Roccamarina. It was two years since he had been home, and he now learnt for the first time that his mother had died some months previously, without remembering him, or even leaving him a message, and that his father had just been drowned in the sea. He also found that the vaunted wealth of his father had mysteriously dwindled away, and that nothing remained to him but the duty of paying off his debts. The forge was sold, the beautiful house fared the same fortune, and the farms one by one all passed into other hands.

Two years after this catastrophe, Master Andrea, who had been always reputed a gentleman of means, found himself merely the owner of a small vineyard.

Averse to taking a position less than that of a proprietor, it seemed to him hard to go and seek work. Hence when he made out his calculations and reckoned that out of this little plot of land he could obtain his daily bread, he said to himself: "Well, I am alone! I may have only dry bread and minestra to eat, but I shall be independent." And he proceeded to shut himself up in his small estate, fully intending to turn agriculturist.

He was covetous, and of a naturally melancholy character. He saw all things in a dismal light, and though still youthful, yet had no affections, and no hopes, not even a loving remembrance of bygone days, to cheer him. His parents had spent their married life in quarrelling with one another, and had often made him the innocent victim of their ill-humour. They had rendered his home perfectly unbearable, and therefore when he found himself far from them, and alone, he experienced a sense of peace and rest. And when in course of time this enforced coldness of a desolate hearth seemed to weary him, he had only to evoke the memories of the sad scenes he had witnessed in his childhood for his empty hearth and desolate existence to appear to him not only tolerable, but even pleasant.

But he was truly lonely. Not a relative, not a friend of the family had he to care for him! His parents had formed no friendships; and he himself knew not how to win them. The fact of his being better educated and in easier circumstances than the miserable fishermen of Roccamarina seemed to place a barrier around him; that talkative, active population, engaged in fishing and in traffic, and always in good spirits, could not understand how a young man should not draw his fellow-beings around him, and wrestle with his evil fortunes.

Master Andrea, from a wish to be left at peace, repelled all social intercourse, without taking into account that a man who lives selfishly for himself may free himself of many sorrows and trials, but that he also deprives himself of sharing the joys of human existence. He would not marry, fearing to bring trouble upon himself, and because he judged all women undesirable companions.

"Ah! you will soon experience the joys of a family!" he would exclaim bitterly, whenever the bells of Roccamarina merrily announced a wedding; and he truly felt compassion for the pair, although he did not know them.

In this way, leading a colourless, monotonous existence, he reached his fortieth year. He tended his vineyard, and read the newspapers and books with which a fellow student regularly supplied him. But the vineyard responded badly to his assiduous care, and left him almost destitute; and books and newspapers no longer satisfied the cravings of his existence. The latter spoke to him of the needs of a social revolution, of the cruelty of the wealthy classes, of the inertness of the poor, and depicted the world in unreal colours; and while assuming to care for the good of the people, instilled into the masses hate and distrust, rather than peace and love.