Her picturesque beauty, her fine temper, the fitness of the incident to the occasion, had an instantaneous power which moved all men alike.
"Raise her flag! Run up the young lady's flag!" some one shouted, and then every voice seemed to echo the words.

Clark was a young man of noble type, in whose veins throbbed the warm chivalrous blood of the cavaliers.

A waft of the suddenly prevailing influence bore him also quite off his feet.

He turned to Beverley and said: "Do it! It will have a great effect.

It is a good idea; get the young lady's flag and her permission to run it up." Before he finished speaking, indeed at the first glance, he saw that Beverley, like Hamilton, was white as a dead man; and at the same time it came to his memory that his young friend had confided to him during the awful march through the prairie wilderness, a love-story about this very Alice Roussillon.