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THOUGH Flora had been so wakeful the preceding
night, she tapped at Mrs. Delano's door very early
the next morning. “Excuse me for coming before you
were dressed,” said she; “but I wanted to ask you how
long you think it will be before Mr. Percival can find out
whether Mr. Fitzgerald has brought Rosa with him.”

“Probably not before noon,” replied Mrs. Delano, drawing
the anxious little face toward her, and imprinting on it
her morning kiss. “Last evening I wrote a note to Mr.
Green, requesting him to dispose of the opera tickets to
other friends. Mr. Fitzgerald is so musical, he will of
course be there; and whether your sister is with him or
not, you will be in too nervous a state to go to any public
place. You had better stay in your room, and busy yourself
with books and drawings, till we can ascertain the state
of things. I will sit with you as much as I can; and when
I am absent you must try to be a good, quiet child.”

“I will try to be good, because I don't want to trouble you,
Mamita Lila; but you know I can't be quiet in my mind.
I did long for the opera; but unless Mr. Fitzgerald brought
Rosa with him, and I could see her before I went, it would
almost kill me to hear Norma; for every part of it is associated
with her.”

After breakfast, Mrs. Delano sat some time in Flora's
room, inspecting her recent drawings, and advising her to
work upon them during the day, as the best method of
restraining restlessness. While they were thus occupied,

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Carlina brought in a beautiful bouquet for Miss Delano,
accompanied with a note for the elder lady, expressing Mr.
Green's great regret at being deprived of the pleasure of
their company for the evening.

“I am sorry I missed seeing him,” thought Mrs. Delano;
“for he is always so intimate with Southerners, I dare say
he would know all about Mr. Fitzgerald; though I should
have been at a loss how to introduce the inquiry.”

Not long afterward Mr. Percival called, and had what
seemed to Flora a very long private conference with Mrs.
Delano. The information he brought was, that the lady
with Mr. Fitzgerald was a small, slight figure, with yellowish
hair and very delicate complexion.

“That is in all respects the very opposite of Flora's
description of her sister,” rejoined Mrs. Delano.

Their brief conversation on the subject was concluded by
a request that Mr. Percival would inquire at Civita Vecchia
for the earliest vessels bound either to France or England.

Mrs. Delano could not at once summon sufficient resolution
to recount all the particulars to Flora; to whom she
merely said that she considered it certain that her sister
was not with Mr. Fitzgerald.

“Then why can't I go right off to the United States to-day?”
exclaimed the impetuous little damsel.

“Would you then leave Mamita Lila so suddenly?” inquired
her friend; whereupon the emotional child began
to weep and protest. This little scene was interrupted by
Carlina with two visiting-cards on a silver salver. Mrs.
Delano's face flushed unusually as she glanced at them.
She immediately rose to go, saying to Flora: “I must see
these people; but I will come back to you as soon as I can.
Don't leave your room, my dear.”

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In the parlor, she found a gentleman and lady, both
handsome, but as different from each other as night and
morning. The lady stepped forward and said: “I think
you will recollect me; for we lived in the same street in
Boston, and you and my mother used to visit together.”

“Miss Lily Bell,” rejoined Mrs. Delano, offering her
hand. “I had not heard you were on this side the Atlantic.”

“Not Miss Bell now, but Mrs. Fitzgerald,” replied the
fair little lady. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Fitzgerald.”

Mrs. Delano bowed, rather coldly; and her visitor continued:
“I was so sorry I did n't know you were with the
Vatican party last night. Mr. Green told us of it this
morning, and said you were obliged to leave early, on account
of the indisposition of Miss Delano. I hope she has
recovered, for Mr. Green has told me so much about her
that I am dying with curiosity to see her.”

“She is better, I thank you, but not well enough to see
company,” replied Mrs. Delano.

“What a pity she will be obliged to relinquish the
opera to-night!” observed Mr. Fitzgerald. “I hear she is
very musical; and they tell wonderful stories about this
new prima donna. They say she has two more notes in
the altissimo scale than any singer who has been heard
here, and that her sostenuto is absolutely marvellous.”

Mrs. Delano replied politely, expressing regret that she
and her daughter were deprived of the pleasure of hearing
such a musical genius. After some desultory chat concerning
the various sights in Rome, the visitors departed.

“I'm glad your call was short,” said Mr. Fitzgerald.
“That lady is a perfect specimen of Boston ice.”

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Whereupon his companion began to rally him for want
of gallantry in saying anything disparaging of Boston.

Meanwhile Mrs. Delano was pacing the parlor in a disturbed
state of mind. Though she had foreseen such a
contingency as one of the possible consequences of adopting
Flora, yet when it came so suddenly in a different
place, and under different circumstances from any she had
thought of, the effect was somewhat bewildering. She
dreaded the agitation into which the news would throw
Flora, and she wanted to mature her own future plans before
she made the announcement. So, in answer to Flora's
questions about the visitors, she merely said a lady from
Boston, the daughter of one of her old acquaintances, had
called to introduce her husband. After dinner, they spent
some time reading Tasso's Aminta together; and then Mrs.
Delano said: “I wish to go and have a talk with Mr. and
Mrs. Percival. I have asked him to inquire about vessels
at Civita Vecchia; for, under present circumstances, I presume
you would be glad to set out sooner than we intended
on that romantic expedition in search of your sister.”

“O, thank you! thank you!” exclaimed Flora, jumping
up and kissing her.

“I trust you will not go out, or sing, or show yourself at
the windows while I am gone,” said Mrs. Delano; “for
though Mr. Fitzgerald can do you no possible harm, it
would be more agreeable to slip away without his seeing
you.”

The promise was readily and earnestly given, and she
proceeded to the lodgings of Mr. and Mrs. Percival in the
next street. After she had related the experiences of the
morning, she asked what they supposed had become of
Rosabella.

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“It is to be hoped she does not continue her relation
with that base man if she knows of his marriage,” said
Mrs. Percival; “for that would involve a moral degradation
painful for you to think of in Flora's sister.”

“If she has ceased to interest his fancy, very likely he
may have sold her,” said Mr. Percival; “for a man who
could entertain the idea of selling Flora, I think would sell
his own Northern wife, if the law permitted it and circumstances
tempted him to it.”

“What do you think I ought to do in the premises?”
inquired Mrs. Delano.

“I would hardly presume to say what you ought to do,”
rejoined Mrs. Percival; “but I know what I should do, if
I were as rich as you, and as strongly attached to Flora.”

“Let me hear what you would do,” said Mrs. Delano.

The prompt reply was: “I would go in search of her.
And if she was sold, I would buy her and bring her home,
and be a mother to her.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Delano, warmly pressing her
hand. “I thought you would advise what was kindest and
noblest. Money really seems to me of very little value,
except as a means of promoting human happiness. And
in this case I might perhaps prevent moral degradation,
growing out of misfortune and despair.”

After some conversation concerning vessels that were
about to sail, the friends parted. On her way homeward,
she wondered within herself whether they had any suspicion
of the secret tie that bound her so closely to these
unfortunate girls. “I ought to do the same for them without
that motive,” thought she; “but should I?”

Though her call had not been very long, it seemed so to
Flora, who had latterly been little accustomed to solitude.

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She had no heart for books or drawing. She sat listlessly
watching the crowd on Monte Pincio;—children chasing
each other, or toddling about with nurses in bright-red
jackets; carriages going round and round, ever and anon
bringing into the sunshine gleams of gay Roman scarfs, or
bright autumnal ribbons fluttering in the breeze. She had
enjoyed few things more than joining that fashionable
promenade to overlook the city in the changing glories of
sunset. But now she cared not for it. Her thoughts were
far away on the lonely island. As sunset quickly faded
into twilight, carriages and pedestrians wound their way
down the hill. The noble trees on its summit became
solemn silhouettes against the darkening sky, and the
monotonous trickling of the fountain in the court below
sounded more distinct as the street noises subsided. She
was growing a little anxious, when she heard soft footfalls
on the stairs, which she at once recognized and hastened to
meet. “O, you have been gone so long!” she exclaimed.
Happy, as all human beings are, to have another heart so
dependent on them, the gratified lady passed her arm round
the waist of the loving child, and they ascended to their
rooms like two confidential school-girls.

After tea, Mrs. Delano said, “Now I will keep my
promise of telling you all I have discovered.” Flora ran
to an ottoman by her side, and, leaning on her lap, looked
up eagerly into her face. “You must try not to be excitable,
my dear,” said her friend; “for I have some unpleasant
news to tell you.”

The expressive eyes, that were gazing wistfully into
hers while she spoke, at once assumed that startled, melancholy
look, strangely in contrast with their laughing shape.
Her friend was so much affected by it that she hardly

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knew how to proceed with her painful task. At last Flora
murmured, “Is she dead?”

“I have heard no such tidings, darling,” she replied.
“But Mr. Fitzgerald has married a Boston lady, and they
were the visitors who came here this morning.”

Flora sprung up and pressed her hand on her heart, as
if a sharp arrow had hit her. But she immediately sank
on the ottoman again, and said in tones of suppressed agitation:
“Then he has left poor Rosa. How miserable she
must be! She loved him so! O, how wrong it was for
me to run away and leave her! And only to think how I
have been enjoying myself, when she was there all alone,
with her heart breaking! Can't we go to-morrow to look
for her, dear Mamita?”

“In three days a vessel will sail for Marseilles,” replied
Mrs. Delano. “Our passage is taken; and Mr. and Mrs.
Percival, who intended to return home soon, are kind
enough to say they will go with us. I wish they could
accompany us to the South; but he is so well known as
an Abolitionist that his presence would probably cause unpleasant
interruptions and delays, and perhaps endanger
his life.”

Flora seized her hand and kissed it, while tears were
dropping fast upon it. And at every turn of the conversation,
she kept repeating, “How wrong it was for me to run
away and leave her!”

“No, my child,” replied Mrs. Delano, “you did right in
coming to me. If you had stayed there, you would have
made both her and yourself miserable, beside doing what
was very wrong. I met Mr. Fitzgerald once on horseback,
while I was visiting at Mr. Welby's plantation; but
I never fairly saw him until to-day. He is so very

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handsome, that, when I looked at him, I could not but think it
rather remarkable he did not gain a bad power over you by
his insinuating flattery, when you were so very young and
inexperienced.”

The guileless little damsel looked up with an expression
of surprise, and said: “How could I bear to have him
make love to me, when he was Rosa's husband? He is so
handsome and fascinating, that, if he had loved me instead
of Rosa, in the beginning, I dare say I should have been as
much in love with him as she was. I did dearly love him
while he was a kind brother; but I could n't love him so.
It would have killed Rosa if I had. Besides, he told falsehoods;
and papa taught us to consider that as the meanest
of faults. I have heard him tell Rosa he never loved anybody
but her, when an hour before he had told me he loved
me better than Rosa. What could I do but despise such a
man? Then, when he threatened to sell me, I became
dreadfully afraid of him.” She started up, as if struck by
a sudden thought, and exclaimed wildly, “What if he has
sold Rosa?”

Her friend brought forward every argument and every
promise she could think of to pacify her; and when she
had become quite calm, they sang a few hymns together,
and before retiring to rest knelt down side by side and
prayed for strength and guidance in these new troubles.

Flora remained a long time wakeful, thinking of Rosa
deserted and alone. She had formed many projects concerning
what was to be seen and heard and done in Rome;
but she forgot them all. She did not even think of the
much-anticipated opera, until she heard from the street
snatches of Norma, whistled or sung by the dispersing
audience. A tenor voice passed the house singing, Vieni

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in Roma. “Ah,” thought she, “Gerald and I used to
sing that duet together. And in those latter days how languishingly
he used to look at me, behind her back, while he
sang passionately, `Ah, deh cedi, cedi a me!' And poor
cheated Rosa would say, `Dear Gerald, how much heart
you put into your voice!' O shame, shame! What could
I do but run away? Poor Rosa! How I wish I could
hear her sing `Casta Diva,' as she used to do when we sat
gazing at the moon shedding its soft light over the pines in
that beautiful lonely island.”

And so, tossed for a long while on a sea of memories,
she finally drifted into dream-land.

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