HAMILTON.  Thank you.  I need it.  I feel as if all the hurricane were in my head.

RACHAEL (pouring the punch into a silver goblet).  Drink.

HAMILTON.  Gratefully! (He raises the goblet.) I drink—­to the hurricane.

RACHAEL (she moves restlessly about, but remains on the other side of the table).  Tell me of your journey here.  I should think you would be gray and old!  Ah, the color comes back to your face!  You are young again, already.

HAMILTON (he has drained the goblet and set it on the table; he rises, and looks full at her).  Did you doubt that I would come?

RACHAEL (speaking lightly, and averting her eyes).  I thought you were on St. Kitts.

HAMILTON (vehemently).  Still I would have come.  I knew the hurricane would give you to me.  And out there, fighting inch by inch, the breath beaten out of my body, my arms almost torn from their sockets, maddened by the terrible confusion, I still knew that Nature was driving me to you, as she has separated us since the day I came, with her smiling, intolerable calm—­

RACHAEL (still half frivolous under the sudden wrench from tragic despair).  And, after that terrible experience, you still have love and romance in you!  I should want a warm bed, and then—­to-morrow—­to-morrow—­we will sit on the terrace and watch the calm old sun go down into the calm old sea, with not a thought for the torn old earth—­

HAMILTON.  Rachael!  I did not come here to jest.

RACHAEL.  I must go to my mother!  She is alone! What have I done?

HAMILTON.  Stay where you are!  Do you mean that you wish you had not opened the door?

RACHAEL (she hesitates a moment, then raises her eyes to his, and answers distinctly).  No! (She is leaning on the table, which she has deliberately kept between them.  Hamilton throws himself into his chair, and, leaning forward, clasps her wrists with his hands.)

HAMILTON.  This hurricane is the end of all things, or the beginning.

RACHAEL (she throws her head back, with a gesture of triumph).  The beginning!

HAMILTON.  Yes, the storm has come as a friend, not as an enemy, no matter which way—­no matter which way. (He speaks hoarsely and slowly.  There is a silence, during which they stare at each other until both are breathless, and the table, under the pressure of Hamilton’s arms, slowly slips aside.)

RACHAEL.  Hark!

HAMILTON.  Yes; the storm returns.

[Without further warning, the hurricane bursts out of the west with the fury of recuperated power.  The house trembles.  The slaves screech in the cellar.  A deluge of water descends on the roof.  The confusion waxes louder and louder, until it seems as if the noise alone must grind all things to dust.  Hamilton thrusts aside the table, and takes Rachael violently in his arms.  Her laugh of delight and triumph blends curiously with the furious noise of the hurricane.]