RACHAEL.  Ah! (She is about to advance quickly, when she notes the significance of her mother’s face and attitude.) Let him in!

MISTRESS FAWCETT.  No.

RACHAEL.  It is not possible!  You?  Why, he must be half dead.  But, of course, you are only waiting to extract a promise from me.

MISTRESS FAWCETT.  Will you make it?

RACHAEL.  No.

MISTRESS FAWCETT.  Then he can die out there in the storm. (Rachael laughs, and approaches her swiftly.  Mistress Fawcett raises her hand warningly.) I shall struggle with you, and you know that will mean my death.  You may choose between us. (Rachael utters a cry, and covers her face with her hands.  Hamilton throws himself against the door with violence, but the iron bar guards it.)

HAMILTON.  The hurricane is veering, Mistress Fawcett.  Do not you hear the absolute stillness?  In a few moments it will burst out of the west with increased fury.  Unless you admit me, I shall stay here and meet it.  I have crawled here, wriggled here, like a snake.  It has taken me two hours to cover half a mile.  I shall not crawl back.  I came here to protect Rachael—­to die with her, if inevitable—­

MISTRESS FAWCETT.  Or to ruin her life.

HAMILTON.  That is done.

MISTRESS FAWCETT.  True; but I can protect her from worse.

RACHAEL.  Very well!  You can keep him out.  You cannot keep me in.  I shall not struggle with you; nor will I admit any one to your house against your will.  But if you do not open that door—­at once—­I go out by another.

MISTRESS FAWCETT.  Rachael!  Do I count for nothing?  I have loved you so! 
Is this all you have to give me in return?

RACHAEL.  I know your motive—­your love.  I misprize neither.  But if women loved their mothers better than the man of their hearts there would be the end of the race.  And what is the will of either of us against Fate?  Cannot you understand?  Why was he permitted to reach me to-night?  What man has ever lived through a hurricane before?  Nature has held her breath to let him pass.  Do you suppose your puny strength can hold us apart?  Quick!  Answer! (She half turns towards the door leading into the next room.)

MISTRESS FAWCETT.  You have conquered.  But wait until I am out of this room. (She falls heavily on her crutch, and hobbles out.  Rachael holds her breath until the door closes behind her, then runs forward and lowers the bar.  Hamilton enters.  He is hatless.  His long cape is torn and covered with leaves and mould.  He closes and bars the door behind him, and Rachael, seeing him safe, and her desire so near to fulfilment, experiences a revulsion of feeling.  She falls back, and hurriedly fetching a pan of coals from a corner, fires them, and mixes a punch.)

RACHAEL (hurriedly).  You are cold.  You are exhausted.  In a moment I will give you a hot drink.

[Hamilton, after a long look at her, throws himself into a chair by the table, and stares at the floor, his hand at his head.]