"Nay, Shalah," I said. "Mine is a quieter destiny. I go back to the
Tidewater, but I shall not stay there. We have found the road to the
hills, and in time I will plant the flag of my race on the Shenandoah."

He bowed his head. "So be it. Each man to his own path, but I would
ours had run together. Your way is the way of the white man. You
conquer slowly, but the line of your conquest goes not back. Slowly it
eats its way through the forest, and fields and manors appear in the
waste places, and cattle graze in the coverts of the deer. Listen,
brother. Shalah has had his visions when his eyes were unsealed in the
night watches. He has seen the white man pressing up from the sea, and
spreading over the lands of his fathers. He has seen the glens of the
hills parcelled out like the meadows of Henricus, and a great multitude
surging ever on to the West. His race is doomed by God to perish before
the stranger; but not yet awhile, for the white man comes slowly. It
hath been told that the Children of the West Wind must seek their
cradle, and while there is time he would join them in that quest. The
white men follow upon their heels, but in his day and in that of his
son's sons they will lead their life according to the ancient ways. He
hath seen the wisdom of the stranger, and found among them men after
his own heart; but the Spirit of his fathers calls, and now he returns
to his own people."

"What will you do there?" I asked.

"I know not. I am still a prince among them, and will sway their
councils. It may be fated that I slay yonder magician and reign in his
stead."