No more did he listen to the rush and roar of the thunder-storm.

For with the touch of clinging hands and the throbbing bosom he grew conscious of an inward storm--the tingling of new chords of thought, strange music of unheard, joyous bells sad dreams dawning to wakeful delight, dissolving doubt, resurging hope, force, fire, and freedom, unutterable sweetness of desire. A storm in his breast--a storm of real love.