There was that in her which forbade unhappiness, which would have broken out into great joy if she would have let it; but yet she would not.

It was too soon yet to say aloud what she said in her heart daily, that she loved Giovanni with a great love, and that she knew she was free to love him.

In that thought there was enough of joy.

But he might come if he would; her anger would not be great if he broke his promise now, he had kept it so long--six whole months.

But by-and-by, as the days passed, the first note of happiness was marred by the discordant ring of a distant fear.