He was buried in that
little walled graveyard of which he had told her. Sometimes she
thought she would try to go there and see his grave, perhaps see his
father; if Alessandro had told him of her, the old man would be
glad to see her; perhaps, after all, her work might lie there, among
Alessandro's people. But this looked hard: she had not courage for
it; shelter and rest were what she wanted,-- the sound of the
Church's prayers, and the Father's blessing every day. The convent
was the best.
She thought she was sure that Alessandro was dead; but she was
not, for she still listened, still watched. Each day she walked out
on the river road, and sat waiting till dusk. At last came a day
when she could not go; her strength failed her. She lay all day on
her bed. To the Senora, who asked frigidly if she were ill, she
answered: "No, Senora, I do not think I am ill, I have no pain, but I
cannot get up. I shall be better to-morrow."
"I will send you strong broth and a medicine," the Senora said; and
sent her both by the hands of Margarita, whose hatred and jealousy
broke down at the first sight of Ramona's face on the pillow; it
looked so much thinner and sharper there than it had when she was
sitting up.
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