And so, indeed, the girl did appear for a moment, looking as wild and terrified as the animal whose name she bore, when the first bay of the deer-hound startles her in the deep woodland pastures, rolling her eyes, catching her breath convulsively, shivering, and, in short, betraying a degree of agitation; that would have appeared unaccountable to a stranger; though, as it caused more amusement than surprise among the merry Bruces, it was but fair to suppose that it sprung from constitutional nervousness, or the sudden interruption of her meditations.  As she started up in her confusion, rolling her eyes from one laughing maiden to another, her very trepidation imparted an interest to her features, which were in themselves pretty enough, though not so much as to attract observation, when in a state of rest.  Then it was that the observer might see, or fancy he saw, a world of latent expression in her wild dark eyes, and trace the workings of a quick and sensitive spirit, whose existence would have been otherwise unsuspected, in the tremulous movement of her lips.  And then, too, one might have been struck with the exquisite contour of a slight figure, which even the coarse garments, spun, and perhaps shaped, by her own hands, could not entirely conceal.  At such times of excitement, there was something in her appearance both striking and singular—­Indian-like, one might almost have said.  Such an epithet might have been borne out by the wildness of her looks, the darkness of her eyes, the simple arrangement of her coal-black hair—­which instead of being confined by comb or fillet, was twisted round a thorn cut from the nearest locust-tree—­and by the smallness of her stature, though the lightness and European tinge of her complexion must have instantly disproved the idea.

Her discomposure dispelled from the bosoms of her companions all the little resentment produced by the matron’s invidious comparison; and each now did her best to increase it by cries of “Jump, Telie, the Indians will catch you!” “Take care, Telie, Tom Bruce will kiss you!” “Run, Telie, the dog will bite you!” and other expressions, of a like alarming nature, which, if they did not augment her terror, divided and distracted her attention, till quite bewildered, she stared now on one, now on the other, and at each mischievous assault, started, and trembled, and gasped for breath, in inexpressible confusion.  It was fortunate for her that this species of baiting, which from the spirit and skill with which her youthful tormentors pursued it, seemed no uncommon infliction, the reforming mother considered to be, at least at that particular moment, unworthy the daughters of a colonel in the militia.

“Do behave yourselves, you ungenteel critturs,” said she; “Phoebe Bruce, you’re old enough to know better; don’t expose yourself before stranngers.  Thar they come now; thar’s Cunnel Bruce that is, talking to Captain Forrester that is, and a right-down soldier-looking captain he is, too.  I wonder whar’s his cocked hat, and feather, and goold epaulets?  Thar’s his big broad-sword, and—­but, Lord above us, ar’nt his sister a beauty!  Any man in Kentucky will be proud of her; but, I warrant me, she’ll take to nothing under a cunnel!”