Six months after the trial I received an invitation to spend a week at
Beechwood Park, and take a share in its shootings.
Start not, reader! My host was not Nigel Harding, nor my hostess his
wife, _nee_ Belle Mainwaring. The new master and mistress of the
mansion were both better people, and both old acquaintances, whom I had
encountered in the _campo_ of the Parana. They were Henry Harding and
his fair Italian _sposa_, now fully put in possession of their English
estate.
I was not the only guest they were entertaining. The house was full of
company, among whom were the _ci-devant sindico_ of the Val di Orno,
his son, and South American daughter-in-law.
If Henry Harding had lost one of his fingers, he had recovered all his
old friends, and added a host of others, while Lucetta was surrounded by
her own kindred.
In the mansion of Beechwood Park there was as much cheer, and perhaps
far more contentment, than when the unamiable Nigel and his equally
unamiable wife had the ordering of its entertainments.
I never met either of them again; nor were they ever after seen in that
neighbourhood. But I have heard of them: their life since then, though
dark--compared with the splendour that had for a time surrounded it--has
not been one that should be deemed unendurable.
The generous Henry did not prove resentful for the wrong his
half-brother had done him. Though of different mothers, they were sons
of the same father; and for that father's sake, Henry abstained from any
act of revenge. Not only this, but he behaved towards Nigel with a
noble generosity. To the thousand pounds left to the latter, in the
second will, he added several other thousands--giving Nigel enough to
keep him and his wife from want, even in England.
But England was no longer a land to Nigel's liking. No more did it suit
the taste of Belle Mainwaring. No more that of Belle Mainwaring's
match-making mother, who had signally failed in her schemes.
India was the country for them, and to India they went--Nigel to become
a resident magistrate, and perhaps mete out injustice to the
talookdars--his wife to distribute bewitching smiles to various
subalterns, captains, and colonels; while the mother would find solace
in dealing out Oriental scandal.
Of most of the other characters who have been conspicuous in our tale I
am able to record something of later date.
Mr Woolet is still pettifogging--still robbing a poor _clientele_, out
of sufficient to keep a carriage at their expense; but not enough to
tempt being employed by the rich. Of these, General Harding was his
first client, his son Nigel the last.
Doggy Dick in due time gave up being a bandit; not from any repentance,
but because the life was to him a hard one. He had found brigandage in
Italy not quite so safe, nor even so pleasant, as poaching in England.
He was stupid enough to return both to the country and the practice, now
and then varying the latter with a job of burglary or garotting. The
consequence was, getting his own neck into a noose as tight as ever he
had twined for any of his victims. It was a halter he had already
earned--by the deed of blood done before going abroad.
From the contemplation of such a dark character, let us turn to those of
lighter and pleasanter complexion.
Tommaso--the wronged, misguided Tommaso--is no more either wronged or
misguided. As head groom at Beechwood, he may be seen every day about
the yard, or the stables, of that splendid establishment--faithful as
ever to the man he rescued from captivity, and to the woman he was
instrumental in saving from dishonour. To him is the writer of this
tale indebted for a knowledge of much of the brigand life it has
depicted.
Through the influence of his new client--the squire of Beechwood Park--
Lawson _pere_ has succeeded in obtaining a seat in Parliament, and
Lawson _fils_ expects some day to tread in the footsteps of his father.
It is an agreeable task to record the after-fate of those who have
agreeably interested us when we can speak only of their prosperity. And
we can testify to this in the case of Luigi Torreani, his pretty wife,
and his worthy father.
The three, after a prolonged sojourn among the Chiltern Hills, returned
once more to their home upon the Parana--their home not only by
adoption, but from choice. There they are still residing; the old
Italian _sindico_ playing patriarch, on his _estancia_; his son still
living a life, part planter, part painter; while his daughter-in-law
keeps house for both.
It is not improbable that, some day, his son-in-law and daughter may
seek them there, for more than once has Henry Harding been heard to
say--Lucetta joyfully listening to it--that he was never so happy as in
his South American home!
And this, too, in the midst of wealth, power, and splendour! To the
true heart, there is no wealth to compare with contentment--no power so
enjoyable as that of free physical strength--no splendour of our
so-called civilisation comparable to the savage charm of an American
scene--be it forest, prairie, or pampa!