He was a new man; he had something to live for; a place in the world, and a lost character to retrieve.

A week after that eventful night, he was able to sit up; a fortnight, and he was rapidly gaining vigour and strength, and health for his new life.
Agnes, that most devoted little wife, had hardly left these three mysterious rooms since she had first entered them.

She was the best, the most untiring, the most tender of nurses, and won her way to the hearts of all.

She was so gentle, so patient, so humble, it was impossible not to love her; and Captain Danton sometimes wondered if he had ever loved his lost, frivolous Rose as he loved his new daughter.
It had been agreed upon that, to avoid gossip and inquiry, Harry was not to show himself in the house, to the servants, but as soon as he was fully recovered, to leave for Quebec, with his wife, and take command of a vessel there.
His father had written to the ship-owners--old friends of his--and had cheerfully received their promise.
The vessel was to sail for Plymouth early in March, and it was now late in February.
Of course, Agnes was to go with him.

Nothing could have separated these reunited married lovers now.
The days went by, the preparations for the journey progressed, the eve of departure came.