The sisters sat folded in each other’s arms, their souls wandering about among memories, when Mr. Blumenthal returned from his long ramble with the children.  Then, of course, there was a scene of exclamations and embraces.  Little Lila was shy, and soon ran away to take refuge in Mamita’s chamber; but Rosen Blumen was full of wonder and delight that such a grand, beautiful lady was the Aunt Rosa of whom she had heard so much.

“Mamita Lila has stayed away all this time, out of regard to our privacy,” said Flora; “but now I am going to bring her.”

She soon returned, arm in arm with Mrs. Delano.  Mr. Blumenthal took her hand respectfully, as she entered, and said:  “This is our dear benefactress, our best earthly friend.”

“My guardian angel, my darling Mamita,” added Flora.

Mrs. King eagerly stepped forward, and folded her in her arms, saying, in a voice half stifled with emotion, “Thank God and you for all this happiness.”

While they were speaking together, Flora held a whispered consultation with her husband, who soon went forth in search of Mr. King, with strict injunctions to say merely that an unexpected pleasure awaited him.  He hastened to obey the summons, wondering what it could mean.  There was no need of introducing him to his new-found relative.  The moment he entered the room, he exclaimed, “Why, Floracita!”

“So you knew me?” she said, clasping his hand warmly.

“To be sure I did,” he answered.  “You are the same little fairy that danced in the floral parlor.”

“O, I’m a sober matron now,” said she, with a comic attempt to look demure about the mouth, while her eyes were laughing.  “Here is my daughter Rosa; and I have a tall lad, who bears two thirds of your regal name.”

The happy group were loath to separate, though it was only to meet again in the evening at Mr. King’s lodgings on Round Hill.  There, memories and feelings, that tried in vain to express themselves fully in words, found eloquent utterance in music.

Day after day, and evening after evening, the sisters met, with a hunger of the heart that could not be satisfied.  Their husbands and children, meanwhile, became mutually attached.  Rosen Blumen, richly colored with her tropical ancestry and her vigorous health, looked upon her more ethereal cousin Eulalia as a sort of angel, and seemed to worship her as such.  Sometimes she accompanied her sweet, bird-like voice with the guitar; sometimes they sang duets together; and sometimes one played on the piano, while the other danced with Lila, whose tiny feet kept time to the music, true as an echo.  Not unfrequently, the pretty little creature was called upon to dance a pas seul; for she had improvised a dance for herself to the tune of Yankee Doodle, and it was very amusing to see how emphatically she stamped the rhythm.

While the young people amused themselves thus, Flora often brought forward her collection of drawings, which Rosa called the portfolio of memories.