embowered by kindly Nature with foliage. In those days its golden-brown
color was in harmony with the ripening orchards and gardens.

Surely, if anywhere in the world, peace was here. But to its owner this
very peace and quietness was becoming intolerable. The waiting days were
so long, the sleepless nights of uncertainty were so weary. When her
work was done, and Edith sat with a book or some sewing under the arbor
where the grape clusters hung, growing dark and transparent, and the boy
played about near her, she had a view of the blue sea, and about her were
the twitter of birds and the hum of the cicada. The very beauty made her
heart ache. Seaward there was nothing--nothing but the leaping little
waves and the sky. From the land side help might come at any hour, and
at every roll of wheels along the road her heart beat faster and hope
sprang up anew. But day after day nothing came.

Perhaps there is no greater bravery than this sort of waiting, doing the
daily duty and waiting. Endurance is woman's bravery, and Edith was
enduring, with an almost broken but still with a courageous heart. It
was all so strange. Was it simply shame that kept him away, or had he
ceased to love her? If the latter, there was no help for her. She had
begged him to come, she had offered to leave the boy with her cousin
companion and go to him. Perhaps it was pride only. In one of his short
letters he had said, "Thank God, your little fortune is untouched."
If it were pride only, how could she overcome it? Of this she thought
night and day. She thought, and she was restless, feverish, and growing
thin in her abiding anxiety.

It was true that her own fortune was safe and in her control. But with
the usual instinct of women who know they have an income not likely to be
ever increased, she began to be economical. She thought not of herself;
but of the boy. It was the boy's fortune now. She began to look sharply
after expenses; she reduced her household; she took upon herself the care
of the boy, and other household duties. This was all well for her, for
it occupied her time, and to some extent diverted her thoughts.

So the summer passed--a summer of anxiety, longing, and dull pain for
Edith. The time came when the uncertainty of it could no longer be
endured. If Jack had deserted her, even if he should die, she could
order her life and try to adjust her heavy burden. But this uncertainty
was quite beyond her power to sustain.

She made