The kingdom of Algarve, lying beyond
those mountains, is, in climate, soil, and vegetation, truly African;
and it is only the strip of salt water that separates it from Morocco,
that prevents its forming part of that country."
"I never heard of the kingdom of Algarve before," said Moodie,
pondering the information he had received. "How far are we from it?"
"We will not find it a long day's journey to one of the chief towns,"
said Lady Mabel. "Its name--its name is Mauropolis, the city of the
Moors. It lies on the border of Algarve, just like Berwick on the
border of Scotland, only Algarve is a beautiful and fertile country,
which poor Scotland is only to a Scot."
"It is an ill bird that fouls its own nest," growled Moodie in an
undertone. "Have you forgot, my lady, that you are yourself a Scot!"
"A Scot!" said she, deliberately, as if now first considering that
point. "My mother was an Englishwoman. So far, I am not a Scot."
"But your father! Your father, my lady!" Moodie angrily exclaimed. "He
is a true Scot, and knows the worth of old Scotland well."
"He does, indeed," said she; "and has always thought it an excellent
country--to come from; so he marched off at eighteen, and has seldom
been back there since.
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