There was some look upon it, some indefinable light that day--such is the power that Love has to infuse all human things with the tint of his own splendour--that it went even to the heart of the wild and evil man who adored her with the deep and savage force of his dark nature.

Was it well to meddle with her, and to build up plans for her overthrow and that of all to whom she clung?
Would it not be better to let her be, to go his way and leave her to go hers in peace?
She did not look quite like a woman standing there, but more like something belonging to another world, some subject of a higher rule.

Men of powerful but undisciplined intellect like Frank Muller are never entirely free from superstition, however free they may be from religion, and he grew superstitious as he was apt to do.

Might there not be an unknown penalty for treading such a flower as that into the mire--into mire mixed perchance with the blood of those she loved?
For a few seconds he hesitated.

Should he throw up the whole affair, leave the rebellion to look after itself, marry one of Hans Coetzee's daughters, and trek to the old colony, or Bechuanaland, or anywhere?
His hand began to tighten on his bridle-rein and the horse to answer to the pressure.