It was one of those dreadful moments that men sometimes undergo that must be met alone, and that when past, remain in the memory for all time; a glimpse far down into the springs and wheels of life; a glimpse that does not come often lest the reason brought to the edge of the fearful gulf should grow dizzy at the sight, and reeling, topple headlong.
But suddenly Vandover rose to his feet, the tears came to his eyes, and with a long breath he exclaimed: "Thank God for it!" He grew calmer in a moment, the crisis had passed, he had found a clue beneath his groping fingers.
He had remembered his art, turning to it instinctively as he always did when greatly moved.

This was the one good thing that yet survived.

It was the strongest side of him; it would be the last to go; he felt it there yet.

It was the one thing that could save him.
The thought had come to him so suddenly and with such marvellous clearness that in his present exalted state of mind it filled him with a vague sense of awe, it seemed like a manifestation, a writing on the wall.

Might it not be some sort of miracle?
He had heard of men reforming their lives, transformed almost in an instant, and had scoffed at the idea.