teen Tallasee was your home. Your father was your teacher and he taught you all that an English school could have taught; yet you were an Indian and your friends were Indians. But at eighteen your father sent you here to Charles Town to Francis O'Sullivan, whose pupil you have been for seven years, and from him you have had an education such as few other men in this New World can boast."
Almayne dug into his pouch for his clay pipe.
"Now," he said, "all that is over. The time of your training is ended. The time of your work draws near—the time when you must take up the task for which your father relies on you. He has spent half his fortune on you so that you might be fitted for that work. And now, with war threatening his people, he says to you 'Come,' and sends his warriors to escort you home like the Chief that you are."
Once more Almayne paused, his keen eyes suddenly alight. He leaned forward and struck his fist upon the table.
"What are you, boy?" he demanded fiercely. "Are you Lachlan McDonald of Tallasee, War Chief of the Muskogee Confederacy? Or are you Lachlan McDonald, Gentleman, of Charles Town, with time to waste on every pretty girl who crosses your path?"
A long silence followed. It was the younger man who broke it.
"Thank you, Almayne," he said slowly. "You were always my friend, and you have said to me what needed to be said."
