These western Indians were the stuff of a great nation.

I, Andrew Garvald, might yet find that empire of which the old adventurers dreamed.
With shame I set down my boyish folly.

It did not last, long, for to my dizzy brain there came the air which Elspeth had sung, that song of Montrose's which had been, as it were, the star of all my wanderings.
"For, if Confusion have a part, Which virtuous souls abhor--" Surely it was confusion that had now overtaken me.

Elspeth's clear voice, her dark, kind eyes, her young and joyous grace, filled again my memory.

Was not such a lady better than any savage kingdom?
Was not the service of my own folk nobler than any principate among strangers?
Could the rivers of Damascus vie with the waters of Israel?
"Nay, Shalah," I said.