that she had built the walls from the
foundation and the corner-stone to the eaves; that she had entered
herself into the study of each detail, and herself peopled the great
institution with such as needed most help in the world--with little
children, perhaps. She would visit them every day, and herself provide
for their wants and care for their sufferings. She would give the place
her husband's name, and the good she would accomplish with his earthly
portion might perhaps profit his soul. She would go to Padre Filippo and
ask his advice. He would know what was best to be done, for he knew more
of the misery in Rome than any one, and had a greater mind to relieve it.
She had seen him since her husband's death, but she had not yet conceived
this scheme.

And Giovanni--she thought of him too; but the habit of putting him out of
her heart was strong. She dimly fancied that in the far future a day
might come when she would be justified in thinking of him if she so
pleased; but for the present, her loyalty to her dead husband seemed more
than ever a sacred duty. She would not permit herself to think of
Giovanni, even though, from a general point of view, she might
contemplate the possibility of a second marriage. She would go to Padre
Filippo and talk over everything with him; he would advise her well.

Then a wild longing seized her to leave Rome for a while, to breathe the
air of the country, to get away from the scene of all her troubles, of
all the terrible emotions that had swept over her life in the last three
weeks, to be alone in the hills or by the sea. It seemed dreadful to be
tied to her great house in the city, in her mourning, shut off suddenly
from the world, and bound down by the chain of conventionality to a fixed
method of existence. She would give anything to go away. Why not? She
suddenly realised what was so hard to understand, that she was free to go
where she pleased--if only, by accident, she could chance to meet
Giovanni Saracinesca before she left. No--the thought was unworthy. She
would leave town at once--surely she could have nothing to say to
Giovanni--she would leave to-morrow morning.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Corona found it impossible to leave town so soon as she had wished. She
had indeed sent out great cart-loads of furniture, servants, horses, and
all the paraphernalia of an establishment in the country, and she
believed herself ready to move at once, when she received an exceedingly
co