hat idea," replied Flora. "I've been wanting to do something
to show our gratitude."

There was wisdom as well as kindness in the plan, though they never
thought of the wisdom. Hours were whiled away by the occupation, which
not only kept their needles from rusting, but also their affections
and artistic faculties.

As the tide of time flowed on, varied only by these little eddies and
ripples, Gerald, though always very loving with Rosa, became somewhat
less exclusive. His attentions were more equally divided between the
sisters. He often occupied himself with Floracita's work, and would
pick out the shades of silk for her, as well as for Rosa. He more
frequently called upon her to sing a solo, as well as to join in
duets and trios. When the weather became cooler, it was a favorite
recreation with him to lounge at his ease, while Rosa played, and
Floracita's fairy figure floated through the evolutions of some
graceful dance. Sometimes he would laugh, and say: "Am I not a lucky
dog? I don't envy the Grand Bashaw his Circassian beauties. He'd give
his biggest diamond for such a dancer as Floracita; and what is his
Flower of the World compared to my Rosamunda?"

Floracita, whose warm heart always met affection as swiftly as one
drop of quicksilver runs to another, became almost as much attached to
him as she was to Rosa. "How kind Gerald is to me!" she would say to
Tulee. "Papa used to wish we had a brother; but I didn't care for one
then, because he was just as good for a playmate. But now it _is_
pleasant to have a brother."

To Rosa, also, it was gratifying to have his love for her overflow
upon what was dearest to her; and she would give him one of her
sweetest smiles when he called her sister "Mignonne" or "Querida."
To both of them the lonely island came to seem like a happy home.
Floracita was not so wildly frolicsome as she was before those
stunning blows fell upon her young life; but the natural buoyancy of
her spirits began to return. She was always amusing them with "quips
and cranks." If she was out of doors, her return to the house would be
signalized by imitations of all sorts of birds or musical instruments;
and often, when Gerald invited her to "trip it on the light, fantastic
toe," she would entertain him with one of the negroes' clumsy,
shuffling dances. Her sentimental songs fell into disuse, and were
replaced by livelier tunes. Instead of longing to rest in the "sweet
vale of Avoca," she was heard