This was not the end, or even the beginning of the end, more the end of the beginning. But it was still one hell of a beginning.
They really did make history here yesterday. In joy and wonderment, and something approaching disbelief, friends and allies - and even some old adversaries - allowed themselves the luxurious embrace of fresh hope and the sense of new beginnings.
When Seamus Mallon - widely acclaimed a star of this process - rang friends early yesterday morning to share the news, the throats were strained, the tears never far away. Hardened hacks registered the surge of raw emotion as they shook his hand. It had been, in his own words, the greatest night of a long political career.
As daylight broke over the barren Castle Buildings complex in the Stormont grounds, the air was filled with the sense of something truly historic in the offing.
"Think of all the bad days we've known here," said one local broadcaster: "Bloody Sunday, Bloody Friday, Bloody Monday. Bloody, bloody days. This really will be Good Friday."
Through the long hours of the previous night watch there had been no such certainty. The rollercoaster ride and lack of sleep had begun to take their toll. On Tuesday the Ulster Unionists had cried foul and threatened to walk off the pitch. Now the boot was on the other foot.
The unionists and loyalists were exuding quiet assurance that a deal would be done while Sinn Fein's Mitchell McLaughlin suddenly appeared not so sure.
Martin McGuinness had been positively scratchy at a press briefing, accusing the UUP of seeking to redirect the process and appealing to Mr Blair not to follow them down that path. In one of the portacabins, as the snow fell thick, some veterans of the peace process pondered the implications.
Could it really be? Had Bertie done a deal with Trimble and ditched Adams? Could he? More to the point, had Hume? Would he? Why would he?
At around 2.10 a.m. word emerged that the SDLP and the Ulster Unionists had agreed 99 per cent of the Strand One issues. The SDLP had apparently secured all their objectives as to the safeguards necessary for nationalists in the new Assembly. Asked if they had shared their triumph with Sinn Fein, the spin doctors had been somewhat reticent.
Had the UUP and SDLP finally converged on the Alliance formula - carving it up between themselves and effectively excluding the Shinners? Between that and the North-South bodies not being "free standing" there seemed no way there would be an agreement. And if there was, it wouldn't work.
It was never going to be thus. The SDLP hadn't even had to persuade David Trimble to buy the inclusive, proportionality principle. He claimed it as his own innovative approach to a new model for government. Having clung to the local government model the UUP had actually accepted that the Assembly should have legislative and executive powers, and an executive committee to handle crucial business on a consensus basis. If the Shinners were to be excluded it could only be because they elected to exclude themselves.
As the light chased away our darkness, there was Mitchell signalling they had no intention of doing anything of the kind. The miracle had been wrought. There would be a deal, and it would carry all sides with it. This really was history. Good history. Sweet, magical, almost unbelievable really. And then the great rollercoaster raised itself and took off again.
All morning the assembled press corp had waited patiently, grateful for snippets of information about the timetable, moaning but gently about the endless delays. No matter that the vending machine had run dry. The sun was shining, the snow gone, and it felt good just to be here. When it came, it would be worth waiting for.
But as the one o'clock deadline became three, then four, and the rollercoaster rose and crashed, word filtered through that David Trimble was having problems with his party. Two MPs and some officers had apparently told him they could not accept a deal putting Sinn Fein in a government "without the IRA having decommissioned a single bullet."
The `D' word was back. But it couldn't be. Could it? Most emphatically came the signal from the young briefers presumably tasked to tell us that the document Mr Blair and Mr Ahern were waiting to present to the world wasn't the one they'd agreed. Yes they had done a deal with the SDLP. But Sinn Fein's participation was meant to be conditional on the actual decommissioning of IRA weapons.
Had they defined that in the agreement? No, it was a verbal understanding, came the reply.
They could hardly be serious. Did they appreciate the pariah status that would be theirs if they did this to Tony Blair? But Mr Trimble was indeed facing serious problems. Jeffrey Donaldson was allegedly in revolt. Mr Taylor, too, was reportedly doubtful. A grim faced Roy Beggs MP came to read the document and apparently judged it untouchable. Could they really have it in mind to overturn the leader?
Would he be forced to resign before the day was out?
Irish officials suddenly found themselves in need of exercise, bumping into the journalists they had so carefully avoided through the week, presumably gathering as much information as they dispensed.
No, the UUP claims were not true. The document had not been changed.
NO, the Strand One deal with the SDLP had not stipulated decommissioning as a condition of Sinn Fein's involvement in the Assembly executive. No, the two leaders would not be hanging around while the UUP had a trauma. And yes, the deal would be done "because it has to be".
That presumably was President Clinton's message as he responded to the crisis, using his influence to help effect the vital last words which would enable Mr Trimble - for the moment at least - to face down his doubters.
Mr Blair gave Mr Trimble the assurance he sought that, if the existing provisions to deal with office holders who did not remain committed to exclusively peaceful means proved ineffective he would support changes to make them so. And he confirmed he shared the UUP view that decommissioning measures should come into effect immediately.
The importance of words was never more plainly revealed. And on reflection, the last-gasp fright may have served a vital purpose in impressing on the paramilitaries that the procession into the world of democratic government really is incompatible with the world of private armies and the dispensation of summary justice.
At the time though it seemed to add a sour note, to take some of the gloss off the occasion. And in highlighting the issue at the last lap, the UUP seemed to have notched-up still further Mr Trimble's task in selling the deal to the wider unionist electorate.
They had made history. But it was probably too much to have expected them to do it with great grace. And, again on reflection, it was maybe as well they didn't.
For in a moment of great personal triumph, Mr John Hume reminded everyone of the barriers and obstacles ahead. This was not the end, or even the beginning of the end, more the end of the beginning. But for all that, one hell of a beginning - and greater in scope, ambition and opportunity than most would ever dared have imagine.