L'ENVOI.
Weeks elapsed before Marmaduke Heath recovered from the shock of this
discovery; but when he once began to do so, he grew up to be quite
another man in body and mind.
It was only by this change--when we saw him so strong and cheerful--that
we got to estimate how powerful had been that sombre influence which had
so long overshadowed him, and what great exertion it must have cost him
to let it appear to us so little. The uncertainty of his tenure in
Fairburn Hall had secretly affected him very deeply, in spite of the
wand of the good fairy. He went to France for a little trip with his
father-in-law, for a thorough change, and there it was he had that duel
thrust upon him of which we have incidentally made mention; let us not
judge him harshly in that matter, for men of his day were as wanting in
moral courage as they were ignorant of physical fear. Yet what a
risk--ay, and what a selfish risk--he ran therein, let alone the
unchristian wickedness of that wicked adventure!
He never dared to reveal to Lucy what he had done; but he confessed it
to Harvey Gerard, who rebuked him roundly for the crime; observing,
however, to myself, not without some pride, that he had always averred
Marmaduke was a fine fellow, and entertained a proper contempt for all
bullies and scoundrels. The young baronet acted weakly, doubtless; but
the duellist's blood was surely upon his own head. At all events, that
was the view Marmaduke himself took of the matter, and there was now not
a happier man in all Midshire than he; discharging the duties of his
rank and position in a manner that won the applause of all his
neighbours, sooner or later--although Mr. Flinthert's applause came very
late indeed.
Year after year, I was a frequent guest at Fairburn Hall, and never set
foot in a house with inmates more blessed in one another. Year by year,
Lucy seemed to grow in goodness, and even, as it seemed to me, in
beauty. I saw her last with silver hair crowning her still unwrinkled
brow; and since that day no fairer sight has met these failing eyes.
Death has long released the noble soul of Harvey Gerard, but his name is
borne not unworthily by a grandson as fearless as himself, and after it
the hard-won letters V.C. In a sunny spot in the little church-yard at
Fairburn lies my dear old tutor--far from the iron rails which enclose
the bones of the long-missing baronet.
Sir Peter...--But why should I further speak of death, and make parade
of loss and change?--an old man like me should, having told his tale, be
silent, and not court stranger ears to "gain the praise that comes to
constancy."
The last time I saw Fairburn, it lay in sunshine. There was no trace of
that bad man whose deeds once overshadowed it, save that in one great
space, close to the public footway through the park, there was a vast
bare ring, where grass, it was said, had never grown, although the
Wolsey Oak, which had once stood above it, had been cut down for forty
years and more.
The place was cursed, so village gossip told, by Lost Sir Massingberd.
This may be true or not. My tale itself may be open to suspicion of
untruth, and this and that, which have been therein narrated, have
already been pronounced "improbable," "impossible," "absurd." To critics
of this sort, I have only to express my regret that the mission of the
author has in my case been reversed, and facts have fallen into such
clumsy hands as to seem fiction.
Let me add one extract from the works of an author popular in my young
days, but now much oftener quoted than perused. He is describing a
picture sale attended by the _dilettanti_. A carking _connoisseur_ is
abusing some effort of an unhappy artist to portray nature. "This
fellow," cries he, "has even had the audacity to attempt to paint a
fly! _That_ a fly, forsooth!" and he flips at it with contemptuous
fingers.
The fly flew away. _It was a real one!_
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's Lost Sir Massingberd, v. 2/2, by James Payn