A Bitter Heritage: A Modern Story of Love and Adventure

by John Bloundelle-Burton

They were drawing near the coast now as the sun sank slowly away over the crest of the Cockscomb mountains towards Guatemala; and already there were signs that the night--the swift night that comes to all spots which lie betwixt Capricorn and Cancer--was drawing near.

The sun, although now hidden behind the topmost ridge of the Cockscombs, was still an hour above the blue horizon, yet nevertheless the signs were apparent that he would soon be gone altogether. The parrots and the monkeys were becoming still and quiet in the branches--that is to say, as still and quiet as these screeching and chattering creatures ever do become in their native state--in dark and shade places where now the evening glow scarce penetrated, the fireflies gleamed little sparks and specks of molten gold; while, above all, there rose now from the earth that true tropical sign of coming night, the incense exuded by countless flowers and shrubs, as well as the cool damp of the earth when refreshed by the absence of the burning sun. Sometimes, too, across their path, an unmade one, or only made by the tracks of wild deer or the mountain cow, two or three of the former would glide swiftly and gracefully, seeking their lair, or the iguana would scuttle before their animals into the nearest copse, while the quash and gibonet were often visible.

They rode slowly, not only because of the heat, but also because none could progress at a swift rate through those tangled copses, the trees of which were often hung with masses of wild vines whose tendrils met and interlaced with each other, so that sometimes almost a wall of network was encountered. Also they rode slowly, because Desolada was but a mile or so off now, and they would be within its precincts ere the sun was quite gone for the day. And as they did so in silence, Julian was acknowledging to himself that, with every fresh person he encountered and every fresh question he asked, his bewilderment was increased.

For now, by his side, rode this man, half Spaniard, half Indian, named Ignacio Paz, who not only had been present at the birth of Mr. Ritherdon's son, but also had known that son's mother before she was married. And, Julian asked himself, how did the knowledge now proclaimed by this man--this man who, if he possessed any feelings towards Sebastian possessed only those of hatred--this man who had prophesied for him a violent death as the reward of his brutality and cruelty--how did that knowledge make for or against the story told by George Ritherdon? Let him see.

It served above all to corroborate, to establish, Sebastian's position as the true son and inheritor of Charles Ritherdon. So truly an acknowledged son and inheritor that, undoubtedly no contrary proof could ever be brought of sufficiently powerful nature to overwhelm all that the evidence of the last twenty-five or twenty-six years affirmed. Had not this man, Paz, been one of those who had received money from Mr. Ritherdon to drink Sebastian's health? Surely--surely, therefore, the old man was satisfied that this was his son. And if he, Sebastian, was his son, who then was he, Julian?

On the other hand, the half-breed proved by old Mr. Leigh's conversation that there was some inaccuracy--perhaps an intentional inaccuracy--in Sebastian's statement that Miriam Carmaux, or Gardelle, was a relative of Isobel Leigh. That was undoubted! There was an inaccuracy. Old Leigh had definitely said that he was the first of his family who had ever been forced to earn a living in exile--yet she, this woman, with a French maiden, as well as married, name, was a native of New Orleans, was a Frenchwoman. Was it not enormous odds, therefore, against her being any connection of the English girl with the fair, wheat-coloured hair, the peachlike complexion, and the blue eyes who had been brought as an infant from Essex to Honduras?

Also, was it not immeasurably unlikely that, even if then the women were connected by blood, such coincidences should have occurred that both should have come to the colony at almost an identical time; that Mr. Ritherdon's wandering heart should have chanced to be captivated by each of those women; that he should have jilted the one for the other, and that eventually one, the jilted woman, should have dropped into the place of mistress of the household which death had caused the other to resign? What would the doctrine of chances say in connection with these facts, he would like to know?

"One other thing perplexes me, too," he thought to himself, as now they reached an open glade across which the swift departing sun streamed horizontally, "perplexes me marvellously. Does Sebastian know, does he dream, that against his position and standing such a story has been told as that narrated to me in England by my uncle--as still I believe him to be. And if--if there is some chicanery, some dark secret in connection with his and my birth, does he know of it--or is he inno----"

He paused, startled now at an incident that had happened, an incident that drove all reflection from his mind.

Across that glade there had come trotting easily, and evidently without any fear on its part, one of the red deer common enough in British Honduras. Only this deer was not as those are which sportsmen and hunters penetrate into the forests and the mountains to shoot and destroy; instead, it was one which Julian had himself seen roaming about the parklike grounds and surroundings of Desolada, the territory of which began on the other side of the open glade.