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?