The Finger of Fate Part 40

With the one belonging to me, I was soon standing before a gate. It was that of a railed _parterre_ that fronted the dwelling.

I made my presence known by striking the b.u.t.t-end of my whip against the rails.

Whilst waiting for an answer to my summons, I took a survey of the place.

It did not exactly resemble the dwelling of a _Criollo_, or native.

There was evidence of care about the garden and the rose-trellised verandah, that bespoke European culture. The owner might be English, French, German, or Italian; for, in the Argentine Provinces, all are allowed to colonise without prejudice or distinction. Which nationality would respond to my summons? With curious interest I awaited to see.

I was not kept very long. A man, who appeared to issue from behind the house, came forward to the gate. His thick black head and eagle glance, with white teeth, and nose prominently aquiline, were all Italian. An organ upon his abdomen, and a monkey upon his shoulder, would not more unquestionably have declared his national origin. I knew it before he opened his lips to put the interrogatory, "_Chi e, signore_?"

Despite the man's blackness, there was nothing forbidding in his aspect.

On the contrary, the impression made upon me was that I had fallen among good Samaritans. As the luck would have it, I could talk Italian, or at least "smatter" it, so as to be understood.

"My horse!" I said, pointing to the quadruped, which stood with his forefoot suspended six inches from the ground; "he has had an accident, as you see; and can carry me no further. I am desirous of leaving him in your care until I can send for him. I shall pay you for the trouble, and perhaps," I continued, nodding towards the buildings at the back, "you would have no objection to lend me a nag in his place? Anything capable of carrying me to the house of a friend farther on."

The man looked at me for a moment with a puzzled air--then at my horse-- and then back at myself--and at length turned his eyes toward the house, as if from it he designed drawing the inspiration of his answer.

He could scarce have sought it at a shrine more like the celestial.

As I stood to catch his reply, the door of the dwelling was opened from within, and a woman stepped forth into the verandah--a creature who might have been mistaken for an angel; but still only a woman, and for that not the less beautiful. Coming forward to the trellis, and looking through the roses, that appeared to form a chaplet around her brow, she repeated the question already asked by the man, adding to it his own name--for to him was the interrogatory directed--"_Chi e, Tommaso_?"

Tommaso in answer gave a literal translation of what I had said to him; and then waited for instructions.

"Tell the stranger," responded the sweet voice from the verandah, "tell him he can leave his horse, and have another to continue his journey.

But if he will come inside, and wait till my husband returns home, he is welcome. Perhaps that would be the best thing, Tommaso!"

Tommaso thought it would; and, I need scarce say, I quite agreed with him.

The man took the horse out of my hands, and led him towards the stable.

I was left free to enter the house; and, availing myself of the gracious invitation, I stepped straight across the threshold, and was soon seated inside--in converse with one of the most charming creatures it had ever been my privilege to speak with.

CHAPTER SIXTY.

PLEASANT HOSPITALITY.

I sat enraptured with my fair hostess; rejoicing at the accident that had thrown me into such pleasant company.

Who was she? Who could she be? An Italian, she had told me at first; and in this language we conversed. But she could also speak a little English, which was soon explained by her telling me that her husband was an _Inglese_.

"He will be so glad to see you," she said, "for it is not often he meets any of his own countrymen, as most of the English live further down.

Henry will soon be home. It can't be long now. He only went over to the other _estancia_--I mean papa's. I fancy he and brother Luigi are gone ostrich-hunting. But that must be over now, as they don't chase the birds after midday, on account of the shadows. I am sure he will soon be back. Meanwhile, how are you to be amused? Perhaps you will look at these pictures? They are landscapes of the country here. Some of them are by my husband--some by brother Luigi. Try if you can kill a little time over them while I go look after something for you to eat."

"Pray don't think of that. I do not feel in any need of eating."

"That may be, signore; but then there are the ostrich-hunters. Likely enough Luigi will come along with my husband, and won't _they_ have an appet.i.te! I must see and have dinner ready for them."

So saying, my fair hostess glided out of the room; leaving me to an impatience, that had very little to do with the return of the ostrich-hunters.

To "kill time," as I had been requested, I commenced an inspection of the pictures. There were about a dozen of them, hanging against the walls of the apartment, otherwise but sparely furnished--as might be expected of a country house in a remote province on the Parana. As she had said, they were all scenes of the country, and for this reason to me more interesting. Most of them related to the chase or some act of native industry. There were pictures of jaguar-hunting, flamingo-shooting, running wild horses, and capturing them with _bolas_ or _lazo_.

I was at first only struck with the remarkable truthfulness of their details--the faithfulness displayed in regard of both scenery and costumes. How like to reality were the gigantic thistles, the _ombu-trees_, the wide-stretching pampas, the ostriches, the wild horses and other animals, the _gauchos_ and their costumes--in short, everything delineated. This was all evident at a glance. But I was not prepared for what I discovered on closer, examination--that the pictures, at least a large number of them, were paintings of high art-- fit for any exhibition in the world! It would have been a surprise to me meeting with such paintings upon the remote plains of the Parana; it was something more, to know that they had been painted there.

Before I had ceased wondering at this unexpected discovery, cheerful voices heard outside caused me to suspend the examination, and walk up to the window. On looking forth, I had before me a real scene similar to the painted ones I had just been scrutinising. Under the shadow of a gigantic _ombu-tree_, standing near, four hors.e.m.e.n had made halt, and were in the act of dismounting.

I could have no doubt as to who they were--clearly the ostrich-hunters, as a large c.o.c.k _rhea_ appeared upon the croup of one of the saddles, and a hen-bird on the other. A third spoil of the chase was seen, in the spotted skin of a jaguar, strapped behind one of the hors.e.m.e.n, who still kept his saddle.

Two of the party were _gauchos_, evidently attendants--the other two as evidently the husband and brother of my fair hostess.

The latter--easily distinguished by his Italian face--seemed undecided about dismounting, as if half inclined to go further; while the Englishman was urging him to stay. Just then the beautiful mistress of the mansion stepped out into the verandah, and gliding on to the gate, added her solicitations, intimating to her brother that there was a stranger in the house. Yielding to these, the young man sprang out of the stirrup, and surrendered the rein to Tommaso, who had come round from the stables, and who, with the _gauchos_, at once led the horses away.

The two gentlemen having entered, the lady of the house introduced them as her husband and brother. Beyond this, no name was p.r.o.nounced; and before I could give my own, she had commenced explaining my presence and the nature of the request I had made.

"Most certainly," exclaimed the Englishman, as soon as he had heard the explanation. "We can lend you a horse, sir, and welcome. But why not stay with us a day or two? Perhaps by that time your own will have recovered sufficiently to carry you on to the end of your journey."

"It is very kind of you," I answered, feeling very much inclined to accept the invitation. On second thoughts, however, it occurred to me that the hospitality proffered might be of the character common in South American countries, "_mia casa a su disposicion, senor_," a mere expression of courtesy; which I was about declining under some colourable excuses, when a second solicitation from my host--in which he was joined by his young wife--convinced me of its sincerity. I could hold out no longer, and declared my willingness to remain the "day or two."

I made it three--and of the pleasantest days I ever spent in my life.

They were not all pa.s.sed under the roof of my countryman and his brother-in-law. The latter had a house of his own--an _estancia_ on a larger scale, of which that of my host was only an offshoot. Into this I was also introduced; finding in it another fair hostess, a young South American lady, who had lately become its mistress; as also Luigi's own father, a venerable Italian gentleman, who was in reality the head of the whole circle. The two establishments were but half a mile apart; and what with pa.s.sing between one and the other, breakfasting and dining alternately at both--with an ostrich chase at intervals--the time pa.s.sed so pleasantly I could scarce believe the days to be twenty-four hours in length.

I was rather displeased with Tommaso for having so speedily cured my horse. An odd-looking creature this same Tommaso appeared to me. Had I met him on the mountains of Italy, instead of by the banks of the Parana, I should certainly have taken him for a brigand. Not that the resemblance went beyond mere personal appearance; that picturesqueness we attach, to the Italian bandit. Otherwise, the man looked honest; was certainly cheerful; and, above all, faithfully devoted to the _signore_ and _signora_, in whose service he lived.

I confess to some chagrin when Tommaso p.r.o.nounced my steed once more sound. But there was no concealing the fact; and, although still urged, both by host and hostess, to prolong my stay, I felt there should be some limit to such trusting hospitality, and prepared to continue my journey. I was the less loath at leaving these new friends, from an understanding, that on my return towards Rosario I was to take their house on the way. Only on this promise would they consent to my going so soon; and I need scarce say that the prospect of renewing such a pleasant intercourse rendered it less painful to take my departure.

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE.

AN UNKNOWN HOST.

Up to the hour of leaving, I had never once heard the name of my host.

That of his father-in-law had been often mentioned. He was Signor Francesco Torreani, a native of the Papal States, who some years before had come to the Argentine Republic--as many others of his countrymen--to better his condition. This, and not much more, of him or his had I learnt. To say the truth, our daily life during my short stay had been too much taken up with the pleasures of the present to dwell upon memories of the past--often painful.

In my case they were of this character, and appeared the same in that of my new acquaintances. Who, breathing the free, fresh air of the pampas, or bounding over them on the back of a half-wild horse, would care to remember the petty joys and sorrows of an effete and corrupt civilisation? Rather should one wish to forget them.

So was it with me; and so, too, I fancied with these emigrants from the cla.s.sic land of Italy. I sought not to know the history of their past.

Why should they have any interest in communicating it? They did not, any more than the few facts already stated, and these were revealed by chance, in the course of conversation. Little, however, as I had learnt of the Torreanis, still less was I informed of the antecedents of my own countryman. I stood upon the threshold of his house, about to bid him adieu, without even knowing his name!

This may appear strange, and requiring explanation. It is this. Among the people of Spanish America, the surname is but seldom heard--only the Christian cognomen, or, as they term it, _apellido_. This was all I had heard of my host--Henry being his baptismal appellation.

But for some reason, into which I had no right to inquire, I found him reticent whenever chance led us to converse upon English affairs; and, though he showed no prejudice against his native country, he appeared to take little interest in it--at times, as I thought, shunning the subject.

In my own mind, I had shaped out a theory to account for this indifference. Want of success in early life--perhaps something of social exclusion--though I could not put it upon that score. His manners and accomplishments proved, if not high birth, at least the training that appertains to it; and in our intercourse there had more than once cropped out the masonic signs of Eton and Oxford. I wondered who he could be, or whence he had sprung. Fearing it might not be relished, I had forborne asking the question.

It was only at the last moment, when I stood upon his doorstep, and was about bidding him adieu, that the thought of inquiring his name came into my head.

"You will excuse me," I said, "if after having been for three days the recipient of a very pleasant and very undeserved hospitality, I am somewhat desirous to know the name of my host. It is not a matter of mere curiosity; but only that I may know to whom I am so largely indebted."