There was no reason why Giovanni should go away--no reason either why Corona should ever love him less.

She belonged to a class of women, if there are enough of them to be called a class, who, where love is concerned, can feel but one impression, which becomes in their hearts the distinctive seal and mark of their lives, for good or for evil.

Corona was indeed so loyal and good a woman, that the strong pressure of her love could not abase her nobility, nor put untruth where all was so true; but the sign of her love for Giovanni was upon her for ever.

The vacant place in her heart had been filled, and filled wholly; the bulwark she had reared against the love of man was broken down and swept away, and the waters flowed softly over its place and remembered it not.

She would never be the same woman again, and it was bitter to her to feel it: for ever the face of Giovanni would haunt her waking hours and visit her dreams unbidden,--a perpetual reproach to her, a perpetual memory of the most desperate struggle of her life, and more than a memory--the undying present of an unchanging love.
She was quite sure of herself in future, as she also trusted sincerely in Giovanni's promise.