midday
It was but little after ten o'clock in the morning when Veronica got out upon the platform of the railway station at Eboli ; it was sunset , and the full moon was rising , when her carriage stopped at the entrance of the mountain town . It had been a very long day , and she had seen much that was quite new to her , and different from what she had expected . At first , indeed , she was amazed at the richness of the country beyond Eboli , as she was driven for nearly an hour through what was literally a forest of ancient olive trees , interrupted only here and there by a broad field of vines , cut low and trained upon short stakes ; and from the rising ground beyond Carpella , where the road winds up the first hill , she looked back and saw the shimmering grey-green light of the olive leaves , lying like a delicate mantle over the flat country and in the great hollow , from Eboli to the deep gorge wherein the ancient city of Campania lies as in a nest . A part of the olive land was hers ; and as she drove along , the midday breeze blew some of the tiny , star-like olive blossoms into her lap . She took one in her fingers and looked at it closely and could just smell its very faint , aromatic odour . `` It is the first greeting from what is yours , '' said Don Teodoro , with a smile . `` The wind brings me my own flowers , '' answered Veronica , and she laughed softly and happily .