"Imagine a rough, course man, outlawed by his fellow beings, an Ishmaelite and an acknowledged scoundrel, suddenly brought face to face with a weak, wan girl, full of refinement and gentle sweetness, who is slowly dying of a terrible wasting disease. They meet one summer afternoon in an old-world garden, where the girl has been wheeled out into the sunshine. The man, fighting for the life of which he is so full and which he loves so well, stumbles over the girl, who is also fighting for the life which is so quickly ebbing away from her; they gaze at each other for a moment, like beings from different worlds, the man astounded because he has never seen anything so weak and so beautiful, the girl because she has never seen anything so strong; and then the inevitable happens - they immediately understand each other, with the quick sympathy of the powerful and the impotent. In succeeding pictures we see the fast friendship which springs up between these two - how the girls gives the man of her sweetness and her comfort, and the man returns for them the strength of his manhood and his rude devotion. And then comes the end. One day the outlaw, creeping from the bushes to keep his daily appointment, is met by the sight of an empty chair. The thread of life has snapped; the girl has gone forever; an, realizing that his heart has gone with her, the man slips down to the ground, submitting himself unresistingly when his pursuers come there to take him. Only Miss Bush and Mr. Kerrigan could play these two parts." - The Bioscope, june 6, 1912, p.745