One day Rosa said:  “As soon as the heat abates, so that we can use our needles without rusting, we will do a good deal of embroidery, and give it to Madame.  She sells such articles, you know; and we can make beautiful things of those flosses and chenilles the good soul saved for us.”

“I like that 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 musically chasing “Figaro here!  Figaro there!  Figaro everywhere!”

Seven months passed without other material changes than the changing seasons.  When the flowers faded, and the leafless cypress-trees were hung with their pretty pendulous seed-vessels, Gerald began to make longer visits to Savannah.  He was, however, rarely gone more than a week; and, though Rosa’s songs grew plaintive in his absence, her spirits rose at once when he came to tell how homesick he had been.  As for Floracita, she felt compensated for the increased stillness by the privilege of having Rosa all to herself.