CHAPTER II.

"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."