A slight female form, emerged from the dark green thicket, and glided more like a spirit of the air than a human being towards the wondering group. Her light steps produced no sound. In each hand she held a rich bouquet of fresh wild flowers, and leaves and blossoms were fantastically, though tastefully, arranged in her hair and on her breast. A broad, shining gold band decked her temples, but many of her raven ringlets had escaped from their confinement, and floated out on the wind as she sped towards her beloved.
“La-u-na! La-u-na!” cried William, darting forward frantically and catching the girl in his arms. He pressed her closely and fondly to his heart, and she hid her face on his breast. Thus they clung together several minutes in silence, when they were interrupted by Roughgrove, whose attention had been attracted by the sudden affright of Joe.
“William, my dear boy,” said the grieved old man, “you must not have any thing to do with the Indians—you promised us that you would not—”
“Leave us!” said the youth, sternly, and stamping impatiently.
“Do, father!” cried Mary, who looked on in tears, a few paces apart; “brother won’t leave us again—I’m sure he won’t—will you, William?”
“No, I will not!” exclaimed the youth. The Indian girl comprehended the meaning of his words, and, tearing, away from his embrace, stood with folded arms at his side, with her penetrating and reproachful eyes fixed full upon him, while her lips quivered and her breast heaved in agitation. All now regarded her in silence and admiration. Her form was a perfect model of beauty. Her complexion was but a shade darker than that of the maidens of Spain. Her brows were most admirably arched, and her long silken lashes would have been envied by an Italian beauty. Her forehead and cheeks were smooth, and all her features as regular as those of a Venus. The mould of her face was strictly Grecian, and on her delicate lips rested a half-formed expression of sad regret and firm resolution. Her vestments were rich, and highly ornamented with pearls and diamonds. She wore a light snowy mantle made of swan skins, on which a portion of the fleecy down remained. Beneath, the dress was composed of skins of the finest finish, descending midway between her knees and ankles, where it was met by the tops of the buckskin moccasins, that confined her small and delicately-formed feet. Her arms, which were mostly concealed under her mantle, were bare from the elbows down, and adorned at the wrists with silver bands.
“Why, hang it all! Was there nothing running after me but this squaw?” asked Joe, who had ventured forth again unobserved, and now stood beside Glenn and Mary.
“Silence!” said Glenn.
“Oh, don’t call her a squaw, Joe—she’s more like an angel than a squaw,” said Mary, gazing tenderly at the lovers, while tears were yet standing in her eyes.
“I won’t do so again,” said Joe, “because she’s the prettiest wild thing I ever saw; and if Mr. William don’t marry her, I will.”