The Will and the Way by Bernard Capes — Read

After the tempest, calm. So felt the poor child whom a relentless destiny had at length yielded up to peace. Such rest, such bliss could never be but in the heavenly relief from torture. As the star needs night to reveal its shining, so against that background of death and horror did her soul glow large and tranquil. She had been a castaway, and was rescued; in despair, and the Perseus had come to her aid. Likely enough, under normal circumstances, she would never have found in him that demi-deity her heart now recognised and worshipped. She might have come to admire, to love him, but never with that whole-souled surrender of her will to his which stood for her renunciation of all that was selfish and wilful in her character. Now, shamed and abashed before him as she was, she felt his mighty helpfulness like a condescension, and saw herself only a mean and contrite little creature in the shadow of his greatness. All her peevish caprice, her high self-reliance were exchanged for sweet humility; that spoilt and imperilled spirit was humanised, womanised, and was become a tenfold lovelier thing thereby.

He had demanded everything from her--the truth, the secrets of her heart, the conduct of her affairs. Her sole duty remaining was to trust to him, love him, lest on his strength for ever more. In return he gave her all of his confidence, save such as would have seemed still to claim her to a part in the exposure of a villain. As to that he would tell her nothing of his purpose or designs. She was to leave everything to him, and, for all else, rest and recover the tranquility of mind and body which were to minister to his rapture of her in the halcyon days to come.