At all other times the old haciendado—who was a bachelor to boot—led a tranquil and somewhat solitary life; a sister older than himself being his only companion. There were occasional exceptions to this rule: when his charming sobrina rode across from the Rio Grande to pay him and his sister a visit. Then the domicile of Don Silvio became a little more lively.
Isidora was welcome whenever she came; welcome to come and go when she pleased; and do as she pleased, while under her uncle’s roof. The sprightliness of her character was anything but displeasing to the old haciendado; who was himself far from being of a sombre disposition. Those traits, that might have appeared masculine in many other lands, were not so remarkable in one, where life is held by such precarious tenure; where the country house is oft transformed into a fortress, and the domestic hearth occasionally bedewed with the blood of its inmates!
Is it surprising that in such a land women should be found, endowed with those qualities that have been ascribed to Isidora? If so, it is not the less true that they exist.
As a general thing the Mexican woman is a creature of the most amiable disposition; douce—if we may be allowed to borrow from a language that deals more frequently with feminine traits—to such an extent, as to have become a national characteristic. It is to the denizens of the great cities, secure from Indian incursion, that this character more especially applies. On the frontiers, harried for the last half century by the aboriginal freebooter, the case is somewhat different. The amiability still exists; but often combined with a bravourie and hardihood masculine in seeming, but in reality heroic.
Since Malinché, more than one fair heroine has figured in the history of Anahuac.
Don Silvio Martinez had himself assisted at many a wild scene and ceremony. His youth had been passed amid perils; and the courage of Isidora—at times degenerating into absolute recklessness—so far from offending, rather gave him gratification.
The old gentleman loved his darling sobrina, as if she had been his own child; and had she been so, she would not have been more certain of succeeding to his possessions.
Every one knew, that, when Don Silvio Martinez should take leave of life, Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos would be the owner of—not his broad acres, but—his leagues of land, as also his thousands of horses and horned cattle.
With this understanding, it is needless to say, that the señorita carried respect with her wherever she went, or that the vassals of the Hacienda Martinez honoured her as their future mistress.
Independently of this was she regarded. Hers were just the qualities to win the esteem of the dashing rancheros; and there was not one upon the estate, but would have drawn his macheté at her nod, and used it to the shedding of blood.