that down word for word as you told it to
me. If it twisted my very vitals, it will give a similar pleasure to
others. 'Twould be selfish to deny them. When it's done, I'll send it to
Tiebout. Now I'll leave you, and if my niggers are still too demoralized
to cook supper for you, I'll do it myself."

Alexander, whose brain, in truth, felt on fire, for every nerve had
leapt to the recreating of that magnificent Force that had gathered an
island into the hollow of its hand, crushed, and cast it back to the
waters, dashed at the paper and wrote with even more splendour than he
had spoken. When he had finished, he was still so excited that he
rushed from the house and walked till the hideous sights and smells
drove him home. He was quivering with the ecstasy of birth, and longed
for another theme, and hours and days of hot creation. But he was to be
spared the curse of the "artistic temperament."

XI

The description of the hurricane went to St. Christopher by sloop two
days later (there were no English papers on St. Croix), and was not
heard from for two weeks. Meanwhile Alexander forgot it, as writers have
a way of forgetting their infants of enthusiastic delivery. There was
much to do on St. Croix. The negroes were put at once to rebuilding and
repairing, and masters, as well as overlookers and agents, were behind
them from morning till night. Mr. Mitchell had not returned, and
Alexander was obliged to take charge of his estates. When he was not
galloping from village to village and mill to mill, driving the sullen
blacks before him, or routing them out of ruins and hollows, where they
huddled in a demoralized stupor, he was consoling his aunt for the
possible sacrifice of Mr. Mitchell to the storm. Alexander was quite
confident that the hurricane had spared Tom Mitchell, whomsoever else it
may have devoured, but his logic did not appeal to his aunt, who wept
whenever he was there to offer his arm and shoulder. At other times she
bustled about among her maids, who were sewing industriously for the
afflicted.

Alexander was grateful for the heavy task Mr. Mitchell's absence
imposed, for there was no business doing in Christianstadt, and his
nerves were still vibrating to the storm he had fought and conquered.
His rigorous self-control was gone, his suppressed energies and
ambitions were quick and imperious, every vial of impatience and disgust
was uncorked. As he rode through the hot sunlight or moved among the
Afr