By the roadside the grass grew high, and the broad shallow brooks shrank to narrow rivulets, and disappeared in the overgrowing rushes before the increasing heat of the climbing sun.
Corona's daily round of life never changed, but as the months wore on, a stealing thought came often and often again--shy, as though fearing to be driven away; silent at first, as a shadow in a dream, but taking form and reality from familiarity with its own self, and speaking intelligible words, saying at last plainly, "Will he keep his promise?
Will he never come ?" But he came not as the fresh colours of spring deepened with the rich maturity of summer; and Corona, gazing down the valley, saw the change that came over the fair earth, and half guessed the change that was coming over her own life.

She had sought solitude instinctively, but she had not known what it would bring her.

She had desired to honour her dead husband by withdrawing from the world for a time and thinking of him and remembering him.

She had done so, but the youth in her rebelled at last against the constant memory of old age--of an old age, too, which had passed away from her and was dead for ever.
It was right to dwell for a time upon the thought of her widowhood, but the voice said it would not be always right.

The calm and noiseless tide of the old man's ceasing life had ebbed slowly and reluctantly from her shore, and she had followed the sad sea in her sorrow to the furthest verge of its retreat; but as she stood upon the edge of the stagnant waters, gazing far out and trying to follow even further the slow subsiding ooze, the tide had turned upon her unawares, the fresh seaward breeze sprang up and broke the dead calm with the fresh motion of crisp ripples that once more flowed gladly over the dreary sand, and the waters of life plashed again and laughed gladly together around her feet.
The thought of Giovanni--the one thought that again and again kept recurring in her mind--grew very sweet,--as sweet as it had once been bitter.