You white men should be ashamed to fall below his standard." Her words went home.

It was as if the beauty of her face, the magnetism of her lissome and symmetrical form, the sweet fire of her eyes and the passionate appeal of her voice gave what she said a new and irresistible force of truth.

When she spoke of Beverley's love for her, and declared her love for him, there was not a manly heart in all the garrison that did not suddenly beat quicker and feel a strange, sweet waft of tenderness.

A mother, somewhere, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a sweetheart, called through that voice of absolute womanhood.
"Beverley, what can I do ?" muttered Clark, his bronze face as pale as it could possibly become.
"Do!" thundered Beverley, "do! you cannot murder that man.

Hamilton is the man you should shoot! He offered large rewards, he inflamed the passions and fed the love of rum and the cupidity of poor wild men like the one standing yonder.