It was only when the all-powerful influence of love was brought to bear
upon this plastic nature that Valentine Hawkehurst became fully awakened
to the degradation of his position, and possessed with an earnest desire
to emerge from the great dismal swamp of bad company. Then, and then
only, began the transformation which was ultimately to become so complete
a change. Some influence, even beyond that of happy love, was needed to
give force to this man's character; and in the great terror of the last
three months that influence had been found. The very foundations of
Valentine Hawkehurst's life had been shaken, and, come what might, he
could never be again what he had been.
He had almost lost her. All was said in that. She had been almost taken
from him--she, who to this man was father, mother, wife, household, past,
present, future, glory, ambition, happiness--everything except that God
who ruled above and held her life and his peace in the hollow of His
hand. He had been face to face with death; and never, in all the years to
come--never in the brightest hour of future happiness, could he forget
the peril that had come upon him, and might come again. He had learned to
understand that he held her, not as a free gift, but as a loan--a
treasure to be reclaimed at any moment by the God who lent her.
The darksome valley was past, and Valentine stood by his darling's side,
safe upon the sunlit uplands.
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