mere breath of his omnipotence--nothing more!"

For half an hour the tempest raged in violence, then its fury was spent,
and soon after the clouds rolled away. During its continuance, the wild
passions of the savages were awed into quiet, and their hearts filled with
other thoughts and emotions than those of vengeance and cruelty. They were
silent as the grave, and harmless as silent.

The party now found time to look about them. Durant had manifested signs of
life, but was evidently badly hurt. Presently he opened his eyes, and
stared about, but his glances were those of bewildered delirium. A high
fever was burning in his veins; its fires penetrated to the head, and,
reveling amid the brain, unhinged reason, and let loose the fierce passions
so long time grown strong and o'ermastering.

Who shall paint the darkness of a corrupt heart, when for years the basest
feelings human nature is capable of experiencing have been nourished until
more than mature? It was more dreadful to listen to the ravings of Durant
than to witness the fearful war of the elements. The tempest just over, was
nothing to the one that was struggling and out-breaking in his bosom. We
shall not attempt to record all the dark revelations he made of his own
evil thoughts and deeds, as we would spare the reader's feelings from the
shock so revolting a record would produce. In his delirium he raved of the
past, and unbosomed his intentions for the future. First he seemed to be
enacting over the tragic scenes of the day.

"Tear away the fagots!" he cried. "I say, tear them away! Stupid
blockheads! do you not know that I must have my revenge on the girl?
Scatter the fagots! Gods! if she dies the heart's blood of every dog of you
shall be spilled! I--I must, I _will_ have her alive!"

During the utterance of those words his voice, gestures, and expression of
countenance were in keeping with the language itself, and truly horrible.
Suddenly a change came over his countenance; the dark lines of passion
retreated, and an expression of timidity or fear came in their place. He
muttered incoherently for a time, and then, as if communing with himself,
he spoke in a subdued voice of the last scene in his conscious life. A few
sentences were audible and connected, showing how his mind was affected by
the tempest:

"How I dread the storm! It tells me there is a God! that the thunder is his
voice, and the fierce wind but the motion of his breath! And the lightning