Miguel Diaz spoke the truth, when he said he was in danger. Well might he believe it. Had it pleased Isidora to call together her uncle’s vaqueros, and send them to chastise him, it would have been speedily done—even to hanging him upon the nearest tree!
No wonder he had made such haste to get away from the glade.
As already stated, the real home of Isidora was upon the other side of the Rio Grande—separated by some three-score miles from the Hacienda Martinez. But this did not hinder her from paying frequent visits to her relations upon the Leona.
There was no selfishness in the motive. The prospect of the rich inheritance had nothing to do with it. She was an expectant heiress without that: for her own father was a rico. But she liked the company of her uncle and aunt. She also enjoyed the ride from river to river—oft made by her between morning and night, and not unfrequently alone!
Of late these visits had become of much more frequent occurrence.
Had she grown fonder of the society of her Texan relatives—fonder as they grew older? If not, what was her motive?
Imitating her own frankness of character, it may at once be declared.
She came oftener to the Leona, in the hope of meeting with Maurice Gerald.
With like frankness may it be told, that she loved him.
Beyond doubt, the young Irishman was in possession of her heart. As already known, he had won it by an act of friendship; though it may have been less the service he had done, than the gallantry displayed in doing it, that had put the love-spell on the daring Isidora.