A few days after was Rosa’s birthday, and Floracita busied herself in adorning the rooms with flowery festoons.  After breakfast, Gerald placed a small parcel in the hand of each of the sisters.  Rosa’s contained her mother’s diamond ring, and Flora’s was her mother’s gold watch, in the back of which was set a small locket-miniature of her father.  Their gratitude took the form of tears, and the pleasure-loving young man, who had more taste for gayety than sentiment, sought to dispel it by lively music.  When he saw the smiles coming again, he bowed playfully, and said:  “This day is yours, dear Rosa.  Whatsoever you wish for, you shall have, if it is attainable.”

“I do wish for one thing,” she replied promptly.  “Floracita has found out that Tulee would like to be free.  I want you to gratify her wish.”

“Tulee is yours,” rejoined he.  “I bought her to attend upon you.”

“She will attend upon me all the same after she is free,” responded Rosa; “and we should all be happier.”

“I will do it,” he replied.  “But I hope you won’t propose to make me free, for I am happier to be your slave.”

The papers were brought a few days after, and Tulee felt a great deal richer, though there was no outward change in her condition.

As the heat increased, mosquitoes in the woods and sand-flies on the beach rendered the shelter of the house desirable most of the time.  But though Fitzgerald had usually spent the summer months in travelling, he seemed perfectly contented to sing and doze and trifle away his time by Rosa’s side, week after week.  Floracita did not find it entertaining to be a third person with a couple of lovers.  She had been used to being a person of consequence in her little world; and though they were very kind to her, they often forgot that she was present, and never seemed to miss her when she was away.  She had led a very secluded life from her earliest childhood, but she had never before been so entirely out of sight of houses and people.  During the few weeks she had passed in Nassau, she had learned to do shell-work with a class of young girls; and it being the first time she had enjoyed such companionship, she found it peculiarly agreeable.  She longed to hear their small talk again; she longed to have Rosa to herself, as in the old times; she longed for her father’s caresses, for Madame Guirlande’s brave cheerfulness, for the Signor’s peppery outbursts, which she found very amusing; and sometimes she thought how pleasant it would be to hear Florimond say that her name was the prettiest in the world.  She often took out a pressed geranium blossom, under which was written “Souvenir de Florimond “; and she thought his name was very pretty too.  She sang Moore’s Melodies a great deal; and when she warbled,

  “Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest
  In thy bosom of shade, with the friend I love best!”

she sighed, and thought to herself, “Ah! if I only had a friend to love best!” She almost learned “Lalla Rookh” by heart; and she pictured herself as the Persian princess listening to a minstrel in Oriental costume, but with a very German face.  It was not that the child was in love, but her heart was untenanted; and as memories walked through it, it sounded empty.