"WITH THE SWEET MUST COME THE BITTER--AND, OH! SO BITTER AT TIMES!"
As Howard Sherwood had intimated, he was poor, having nothing but his
pencil and note-book to depend upon for a living. Reared in the lap of
luxury, he had been suddenly thrown upon his own resources, with only
his brains and a college education to back him.
When a boy his parents had perished in a railroad disaster in New
Hampshire and he had been turned over to the care of his uncle, Robert
Sherwood, a wealthy bachelor, residing on Fifth avenue, New York City.
Robert Sherwood had given great care to Howard's early education, and
had insisted that the youth go to Yale, while he had suddenly taken
a notion to go to Cuba, where he had invested heavily in sugar and
tobacco plantations.
On the very day that Howard graduated from the well-known seat of
learning a letter was received from Robert Sherwood, stating that he
had been prostrated with a low fever, the result of exposure in the
swamps with which Cuba abounds. He was coming home under the care of a
physician, and he asked that Howard be on hand to take up the business
left in Cuba unfinished, as soon as he should be able to transfer the
same.
Howard was on hand, but instead of meeting his beloved uncle, he met
only the physician, who told him that his uncle was dead, having died
on the steamer when only one day out of Havana. The body had been
buried at sea.
The young man's grief was intense, for his uncle had been his last
remaining relative. In his sorrow he scarcely asked about the business
his uncle had mentioned in the letter, and he did not think of the
matter until stern necessity made him throw aside his sorrow and
grapple with the question of how to get along in the world.
Then it was that he made the discovery that his uncle's financial
affairs were hopelessly involved. Every dollar the bachelor had
possessed had been invested in Cuba, and just how matters stood it was
impossible to ascertain. Howard engaged an American lawyer in Santiago,
named Thomas Herringford, but so far had received no encouragement.
Over a hundred thousand dollars had been invested by Robert Sherwood
in Cuban lands, and Howard was his sole heir, yet it was doubtful if
the young man would realize a single dollar out of the vast estate.
Time dragged by, and Howard found he must do something for a living. To
one not accustomed to work this was no easy matter, but Howard was not
the one to shrink from a responsibility. He could write fluently, and
liked newspaper work, and it was not long before he attached himself to
one of the large press associations of New York which furnish the news
to several hundred newspapers throughout the land.
Several especially good bits of reporting soon placed Howard at
the head of the staff, and when the regular correspondent for the
association was recalled from Cuba, for inefficiency and unreliability,
Howard was immediately chosen to fill the vacant place at a salary of a
hundred dollars per month, and all expenses paid. A fairly good salary
in itself, yet it was but a small amount to one who had heretofore
spent money with a lavish hand.
Howard had great hopes of his trip to Cuba. Immediately on landing at
Santiago he expected to call on Thomas Herringford, and obtain the full
particulars of how his uncle's estate had been lost. He felt that at
least something should be saved from the general wreck. Howard had been
thinking of all these things, when chance, and the accident, threw him
into the company of Estella Corona, and for the time being the vision
of loveliness drove aught else from his mind. Never had he been smitten
before, and now the keen shaft of Love sank deep into his heart. As he
released her hand, his very soul seemed to go with it.
Whether Estella felt something of what was passing in his mind, or
whether it was his ardent gaze, bent full upon her, it would be
difficult to say, but she blushed deeply, her dark face all aflame,
making her look a hundred times more bewitching than ever. Then, as she
turned her head for an instant, a look of pain and misery crossed her
features. Evidently her girlish heart, full of careless joy to the
outside world, carried some burden of secret sorrow.
"And so you have been two years at Vassar," he went on. "And how do you
like it in the States?"
"Very much, indeed, señor," she replied. "Much better than among the
creoles and blacks of my own country."
"May I ask if you live at Santiago?"
"We live at Marambo, papa and I. We have a large sugar plantation, and
live there all alone, with the servants and the plantation help."
"It must be lonely for you," he said, sympathetically.
"It is--at times. But then, we have company, coming and going--old army
friends of my father."
"Then he is an army officer?"
"He used to be a general in the Spanish Army, ten years ago. He is
retired."
"Ah, I see. No wonder, then, he sides with the royalty. I am afraid you
will have a hard time to uphold your rebellious ideas in his presence."
"Maybe, but--" she paused, and her eyes shone like twin stars. "Cuba
should be free. It is not for Spain to grind down those faithful
ones! Spain would take the last piaster from them! Those miserable
soldiers"--her cheeks grew red again--"they rob the natives! Oh, señor,
you do not know what the people suffer in our isle!"
"I know something of it; I have studied the situation," replied Howard.
But he was not thinking just then of the people--only of how amazingly
pretty Estella looked. "It seems to me you hate the Spanish soldiery,"
he added.
"I do--some of them!" On the adjective she put an emphasis that did not
escape him. "They are cowardly--and worse! They should be sent from the
island, bag and baggage, as you Americans say it."
He laughed outright. "Your college chums were right when they called
you Estella, the little Cuban rebel." His voice sank lower. "And may I
call you Estella, too?"
His eyes sought hers, and for an instant they seemed to gaze into each
other's very soul. Then the long eyelashes dropped.
"If you wish, Mr. Sherwood, but----"
"Thank you, Estella; and why not call me Howard? We are going to be the
best of friends, are we not? You are the first Cuban lady I have met."
"Indeed? Then I suppose I will have to call you Howard. It would be
quite proper in Cuba; but you Americans----"
"We are going to Cuba, and must do as the Cubans do," he interrupted,
merrily. "So it is Howard, remember. Hark! there is the supper gong.
May I have the pleasure?" He extended his arm, which she took. "We
must get seats together, and during the trip you will, perhaps, tell
me all about the country--and yourself. Then I will not feel so much a
stranger when I land."
"I will tell you all you care to listen to," she smiled. Then of a
sudden she grew grave, and said no more until they were seated in the
dining-saloon.
When supper was over, and they had come on deck again, the red sun
had gone down in the direction of the land, and out of the rim of the
eastern sea the pale new moon was rising, a thin crescent emerging from
a bath of glittering silver. Estella clasped her hands together as she
gazed on the scene.
"How beautiful!" she murmured, in Spanish. "Excuse me, but you do not
understand, Mr.--Howard!"
"I do, but not very well. I much prefer to hear you talk in
English--your accent is so soft and sweet, Estella. When you speak I
listen like one in a happy dream." He drew closer to her, and his hand
rested upon her shapely waist. "Yes, it is a beautiful scene," he went
on. "Would that all the scenes in life were as beautiful."
She started, and a slight shiver shook her form.
"Yes, yes; would that all were as beautiful," she cried. "But it seems
it cannot be. With the sweet must come the bitter--and, oh, so bitter
at times!"
He looked down at her gravely. He felt that she was speaking, not
lightly, but in all sincerity, and a pang shot through his heart for
whatever she might have suffered.
"I wish you a future without one atom of bitterness!" he cried, as he
pressed her closer. "You deserve nothing but sweetness, I am sure--your
innocent face proves it."
"You are kind," she murmured, and did not attempt to release herself
from him. "But you do not know--you do not understand----" She abruptly
paused. "What am I saying? It is nothing to you. Let us enjoy the
scene. See how the moon is rising?"
"As it rises, so does my interest in you rise, Estella."
"Ah, señor, perhaps; but the moon sets, too."
"But not my interest!" he cried, with a burst of passion which
surprised even himself. "The first sight of your fair face drew me to
you, every glance kindled the fire within my heart----"
"Oh, Howard!" she gave him a single passionate glance.
"It is true, Estella. Never before have I been so fascinated by such a
lovely face, and----"
The young war correspondent hesitated. There was a heavy step behind
them, and a thick-set, rough-looking Spaniard, in the dress of a naval
officer, came up and touched Estella on the shoulder.
"Good-evening, Miss Corona," he said, in his native tongue. "I saw you
at the supper table, and have been hunting for you ever since."
"Good-evening, Captain Barbados," returned Estella, stiffly. It was
evident that she was equally annoyed by the interruption and the person
causing it.
Captain Barbados looked sharply at Howard, and there was nothing to do
but introduce the two.
"Going to Cuba to take part in the war?" asked the captain, addressing
Howard, in very bad English.
"Mr. Sherwood is a war correspondent----" began Estella, and then, as
Howard pressed her arm, she paused. "I mean--I mean----"
"A war correspondent, eh?" muttered Barbados, and his brow lowered. "I
thought the United States had already sent enough of those cattle down
upon us."
Howard's face flushed, and for the instant he was tempted to slap the
Spaniard's face. Estella seemed to feel what was in his mind, for she
caught his arm.
"Shame on you, Captain Barbados!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Sherwood is my
friend! To address him in that fashion is--is ungentlemanly."
"Well, maybe." The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders. "I was not
speaking of Señor Sherwood as a man. It is the calling I detest. War
correspondents? Bah! They are spies, sent on by Americans who would set
Cuba free! I know them, and so does your worthy father, the general."
At the latter words Estella grew pale. Howard stepped forward.
"You are mistaken, sir," he said, as calmly as he could. "I am a simple
correspondent, and I am also going to Cuba, to look up a certain
property interest left me by my late uncle, Robert Sherwood."
"Ha!" the Spanish captain started back on hearing Robert Sherwood's
name mentioned, but he instantly recovered. "Well, take my advice and
keep your hands out of the struggle, or you may get burnt." He turned
again to Estella. "Come with me," he went on, in Spanish. "Remember,
your father wrote to me to care for you should you return on this
steamer."
For a moment Estella stood irresolute, then, with a sweet good-night to
Howard, she left his side and walked toward the cabin with the captain.
"How long have you known that man?" demanded Captain Barbados, as soon
as they were out of hearing.
"Excuse me, but you have no right to question me, Captain Barbados,"
replied the girl, with spirit. "I will retire at once, and I trust that
in the future you will offer no more insults to my friend."
Without another word, she hurried away to her state-room, entered, and
locked the door behind her. As the captain gazed after her, his brow
grew even darker than before.
"Can it be that she is in love with that American spy?" he muttered.
"It certainly looks like it. If so, what will her father say, and
Lieutenant Mazenas, to whom she is betrothed? I don't think the
hot-blooded lieutenant will give her up so easily, especially as her
father desires so greatly to see the two families united." He ran his
hand through his coarse black hair. "I must tell Philippe about this
American, and we must watch him. To capture a full-fledged spy, and
hand him to the authorities, will be worth a promotion to both of us."