An interval of nineteen years elapsed, bringing with
them various changes to the personages of this story.
A year after Mr. Fitzgerald's return from Europe, a feud
sprang up between him and his father-in-law, Mr. Bell,
growing out of his dissipated and spendthrift habits. His
intercourse with Boston was consequently suspended, and
the fact of Flora's existence remained unknown to him.
He died nine years after he witnessed the dazzling apparition
of Rosa in Rome, and the history of his former relation
to her was buried with him, as were several other
similar secrets. There was generally supposed to be something
mysterious about his exit. Those who were acquainted
with Mr. Bell's family were aware that the marriage
had been an unhappy one, and that there was an
obvious disposition to hush inquiries concerning it. Mrs.
Fitzgerald had always continued to spend her summers
with her parents; and having lost her mother about the
time of her widowhood, she became permanently established
at the head of her father's household. She never
in any way alluded to her married life, and always dismissed
the subject as briefly as possible, if any stranger
touched upon it. Of three children, only one, her eldest,
remained. Time had wrought changes in her person.

[figure description] Page 286.[end figure description]

Her once fairy-like figure was now too short for its fulness,
and the blue eyes were somewhat dulled in expression;
but the fair face and the paly-gold tresses were still very
pretty.

When she had at last succeeded in obtaining an introduction
to Flora, during one of her summer visits to Boston,
she had been very much captivated by her, and was
disposed to rally Mr. Green about his diminished enthusiasm,
after he had fallen in love with a fair cousin of hers;
but that gentleman was discreetly silent concerning the
real cause of his disenchantment.

Mrs. Delano's nature was so much deeper than that of
her pretty neighbor, that nothing like friendship could grow
up between them; but Mrs. Fitzgerald called occasionally,
to retail gossip of the outer world, or to have what she
termed a musical treat.

Flora had long been Mrs. Blumenthal. At the time of
her marriage, Mrs. Delano said she was willing to adopt a
son, but not to part with a daughter; consequently, they
formed one household. As years passed on, infant faces
and lisping voices came into the domestic circle, — fresh
little flowers in the floral garland of Mamita Lila's life.
Alfred Royal, the eldest, was a complete reproduction, in
person and character, of the grandfather whose name he
bore. Rosa, three years younger, was quite as striking a
likeness of her namesake. Then came two little ones, who
soon went to live with the angels. And, lastly, there was
the five-year-old pet, Lila, who inherited her father's blue
eyes, pink cheeks, and flaxen hair.

These children were told that their grandfather was a
rich American merchant in New Orleans, and their grandmother
a beautiful and accomplished Spanish lady; that

[figure description] Page 287.[end figure description]

their grandfather failed in business and died poor; that his
friend Mrs. Delano adopted their mother; and that they
had a very handsome Aunt Rosa, who went to Europe with
some good friends, and was lost at sea. It was not deemed
wise to inform them of any further particulars, till time
and experience had matured their characters and views
of life.

Applications to American consuls, in various places, for
information concerning Signor and Madame Papanti had
proved unavailing, in consequence of the Signor's change
of name; and Rosabella had long ceased to be anything
but a very tender memory to her sister, whose heart was
now completely filled with new objects of affection. The
bond between her and her adopted mother strengthened
with time, because their influence on each other was mutually
improving to their characters. The affection and
gayety of the young folks produced a glowing atmosphere
in Mrs. Delano's inner life, as their mother's tropical taste
warmed up the interior aspect of her dwelling. The fawn-colored
damask curtains had given place to crimson; and
in lieu of the silvery paper, the walls were covered with
bird-of-paradise color, touched with golden gleams. The
centre-table was covered with crimson, embroidered with
a gold-colored garland; and the screen of the gas-light
was a gorgeous assemblage of bright flowers. Mrs. Delano's
lovely face was even more placid than it had been in
earlier years; but there was a sunset brightness about it,
as of one growing old in an atmosphere of love. The ashcolored
hair, which Flora had fancied to be violet-tinged,
was of a silky whiteness now, and fell in soft curls about
the pale face.

On the day when I again take up the thread of this

[figure description] Page 288.[end figure description]

story, she was seated in her parlor, in a dress of silvery
gray silk, which contrasted pleasantly with the crimson
chair. Under her collar of Honiton lace was an amethystine
ribbon, fastened with a pearl pin. Her cap of rich
white lace, made in the fashion of Mary Queen of Scots,
was very slightly trimmed with ribbon of the same color,
and fastened in front with a small amethyst set with pearls.
For fanciful Flora had said: “Dear Mamita Lila, don't
have everything about your dress cold white or gray. Do
let something violet or lilac peep out from the snow, for
the sake of `auld lang syne.' ”

The lady was busy with some crochet-work, when a
girl, apparently about twelve years old, came through the
half-opened folding-doors, and settled on an ottoman at her
feet. She had large, luminous dark eyes, very deeply
fringed, and her cheeks were like ripened peaches. The
dark mass of her wavy hair was gathered behind into what
was called a Greek cap, composed of brown network
strewn with gold beads. Here and there very small, thin
dark curls strayed from under it, like the tendrils of a delicate
vine; and nestling close to each ear was a little dark,
downy crescent, which papa called her whisker when he
was playfully inclined to excite her juvenile indignation.

“See!” said she. “This pattern comes all in a tangle.
I have done the stitches wrong. Will you please to help
me, Mamita Lila?”

Mrs. Delano looked up, smiling as she answered, “Let
me see what the trouble is, Rosy Posy.”

Mrs. Blumenthal, who was sitting opposite, noticed with
artistic eye what a charming contrast of beauty there was
between that richly colored young face, with its crown of
dark hair, and that pale, refined, symmetrical face, in its

[figure description] Page 289.[end figure description]

frame of silver. “What a pretty picture I could make, if
I had my crayons here,” thought she. “How gracefully
the glossy folds of Mamita's gray dress fall over Rosa's
crimson merino.”

She was not aware that she herself made quite as charming
a picture. The spirit of laughter still flitted over her
face, from eyes to dimples; her shining black curls were
lighted up with a rope of cherry colored chenille, hanging
in a tassel at her ear; and her graceful little figure showed
to advantage in a neatly fitting dress of soft brown merino,
embroidered with cherry-colored silk. On her lap was little
Lila, dressed in white and azure, with her fine flaxen
curls tossed about by the motion of riding to “Banbury
Cross.” The child laughed and clapped her hands at every
caper; and if her steed rested for a moment, she called out
impatiently, “More agin, mamma!”

But mamma was thinking of the picture she wanted to
make, and at last she said: “We sha' n't get to Banbury
Cross to-day, Lila Blumen; so you must fall off your horse,
darling, and nursey will take you, while I go to fetch my
crayons.” She had just taken her little pet by the hand to
lead her from the room, when the door-bell rang. “That's
Mrs. Fitzgerald,” said she. “I know, because she always
rings an appoggiatura. Rosen Blumen, take sissy to the
nursery, please.”

While the ladies were interchanging salutations with
their visitor, Rosa passed out of the room, leading her little
sister by the hand. “I declare,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald,
“that oldest daughter of yours, Mrs. Blumenthal, bears a
striking resemblance to the cantatrice who was turning
everybody's head when I was in Rome. You missed
hearing her, I remember. Let me see, what was her

[figure description] Page 290.[end figure description]

nomme de guerre? I forget; but it was something that signified
a bell, because there was a peculiar ringing in her
voice. When I first saw your daughter, she reminded me
of somebody I had seen; but I never thought who it was
till now. I came to tell you some news about the fascinating
Señorita; and I suppose that brought the likeness to
my mind. You know Mr. King, the son of our rich old
merchant, persuaded her to leave the stage to marry him.
They have been living in the South of France for some
years, but he has just returned to Boston. They have
taken rooms at the Revere House, while his father's house
is being fitted up in grand style for their reception. The
lady will of course be a great lioness. She is to make her
first appearance at the party of my cousin, Mrs. Green.
The winter is so nearly at an end, that I doubt whether
there will be any more large parties this season; and I
would n't fail of attending this one on any account, if it
were only for the sake of seeing her. She was the handsomest
creature I ever beheld. If you had ever seen her,
you would consider it a compliment indeed to be told that
your Rosa resembles her.”

“I should like to get a glimpse of her, if I could without
the trouble of going to a party,” replied Mrs. Blumenthal.

“I will come the day after,” rejoined Mrs. Fitzgerald,
“and tell you how she was dressed, and whether she
looks as handsome in the parlor as she did on the stage.”

After some more chat about reported engagements, and
the probable fashions for the coming season, the lady took
her leave.

When she was gone, Mrs. Delano remarked: “Mrs.
King must be very handsome if she resembles our Rosa.
But I hope Mrs. Fitzgerald will not be so injudicious as to

[figure description] Page 291.[end figure description]

talk about it before the child. She is free from vanity, and
I earnestly wish she may remain so. By the way, Flora,
this Mr. King is your father's namesake,—the one who,
you told me, called at your house in New Orleans, when
you were a little girl.”

“I was thinking of that very thing,” rejoined Mrs. Blumenthal,
“and I was just going to ask you his Christian
name. I should like to call there to take a peep at his
handsome lady; and see whether he would recollect me.
If he did, it would be no matter. So many years have
passed, and I am such an old story in Boston, that nobody
will concern themselves about me.”

“I also should be rather pleased to call,” said Mrs.
Delano. “His father was a friend of mine; and it was
through him that I became acquainted with your father.
They were inseparable companions when they were young
men. Ah, how long ago that seems! No wonder my hair
is white. But please ring for Rosa, dear. I want to arrange
her pattern before dinner.”

“There's the door-bell again, Mamita!” exclaimed
Flora; “and a very energetic ring it is, too. Perhaps you
had better wait a minute.”

The servant came in to say that a person from the country
wanted to speak with Mrs. Delano; and a tall, stout
man, with a broad face, full of fun, soon entered. Having
made a short bow, he said, “Mrs. Delano, I suppose?”

The lady signified assent by an inclination of the head.

“My name's Joe Bright,” continued he. “No relation
of John Bright, the bright Englishman. Wish I was. I
come from Northampton, ma'am. The keeper of the Mansion
House told me you wanted to get board there in some
private family next summer; and I called to tell you that

[figure description] Page 292.[end figure description]

I can let you have half of my house, furnished or not, just
as you like. As I'm plain Joe Bright the blacksmith, of
course you won't find lace and damask, and such things as
you have here.”

“All we wish for,” rejoined Mrs. Delano, “is healthy
air and wholesome food for the children.”

“Plenty of both, ma'am,” replied the blacksmith. “And
I guess you'll like my wife. She ain't one of the kind that
raises a great dust when she sweeps. She's a still sort of
body; but she knows a deal more than she tells for.”

After a description of the accommodations he had to
offer, and a promise from Mrs. Delano to inform him of her
decision in a few days, he rose to go. But he stood, hat in
hand, looking wistfully toward the piano. “Would it be
too great a liberty, ma'am, to ask which of you ladies
plays?” said he.

“I seldom play,” rejoined Mrs. Delano, “because my
daughter, Mrs. Blumenthal, plays so much better.”

Turning toward Flora, he said, “I suppose it would be
too much trouble to play me a tune?”

“Certainly not,” she replied; and, seating herself at the
piano, she dashed off, with voice and instrument, “The
Campbells are coming, Oho! Oho!”

“By George!” exclaimed the blacksmith. “You was
born to it, ma'am; that's plain enough. Well, it was just
so with me. I took to music as a Newfoundland pup takes
to the water. When my brother Sam and I were boys, we
were let out to work for a blacksmith. We wanted a fiddle
dreadfully; but we were too poor to buy one; and we
could n't have got much time to play on 't if we had had
one, for our boss watched us as a weasel watches mice.
But we were bent on getting music somehow. The boss

[figure description] Page 293.[end figure description]

always had plenty of iron links of all sizes, hanging in a
row, ready to be made into chains when wanted. One day,
I happened to hit one of the links with a piece of iron I
had in my hand. `By George! Sam,' said I, `that was Do.'
`Strike again,' says he. `Blow! Sam, blow!' said I. I
was afraid the boss would come in and find the iron cooling
in the fire. So he kept blowing away, and I struck the link
again. `That's Do, just as plain as my name's Sam,' said he.
A few days after, I said, `By George! Sam, I've found Sol.'
`So you have,' said he. `Now let me try. Blow, Joe,
blow!' Sam, he found Re and La. And in the course of
two months we got so we could play Old Hundred. I don't
pretend to say we could do it as glib as you run over the
ivory, ma'am; but it was Old Hundred, and no mistake.
And we played Yankee Doodle, first rate. We called our
instrument the Harmolinks; and we enjoyed it all the more
because it was our own invention. I tell you what, ma'am,
there's music hid away in everything, only we don't know
how to bring it out.”

“I think so,” rejoined Mrs. Blumenthal. “Music is
a sleeping beauty, that needs the touch of a prince to
waken her. Perhaps you will play something for us, Mr.
Bright?” She rose and vacated the music-stool as she
spoke.

“I should be ashamed to try my clumsy fingers in your
presence, ladies,” he replied. “But I'll sing the Star-spangled
Banner, if you will have the goodness to accompany
me.”

She reseated herself, and he lifted up his voice and
sang. When he had done, he drew a long breath, wiped
the perspiration from his face with a bandana handkerchief,
and laughed as he said: “I made the screen of your

[figure description] Page 294.[end figure description]

gaslight shake, ma'am. The fact is, when I sing that, I have
to put all my heart into it.”

“And all your voice, too,” rejoined Mrs. Blumenthal.

“O, no,” answered he, “I could have put on a good deal
more steam, if I had n't been afraid of drowning the piano.
I'm greatly obliged to you, ladies; and I hope I shall
have the pleasure of hearing you again in my own house.
I should like to hear some more now, but I've stayed too
long. My wife agreed to meet me at a store, and I don't
know what she'll say to me.”

“Tell her we detained you by playing to you,” said Mrs.
Blumenthal.

“O, that would be too much like Adam,” rejoined he.
“I always feel ashamed to look a woman in the face, after
reading that story. I always thought Adam was a mean
cuss to throw off all the blame on Eve.” With a short bow,
and a hasty “Good morning, ladies,” he went out.

His parting remark amused Flora so much, that she
burst into one of her musical peals of laughter; while her
more cautious friend raised her handkerchief to her mouth,
lest their visitor should hear some sound of mirth, and mistake
its import.

“What a great, beaming face!” exclaimed Flora. “It
looks like a sunflower. I have a fancy for calling him
Monsieur Girasol. What a pity Mr. Green had n't longed
for a musical instrument, and been too poor to buy one.
It would have done him so much good to have astonished
himself by waking up a tune in the Harmolinks.”

“Yes,” responded Mrs. Delano, “it might have saved
him the trouble of going to Arabia Petræa or Damascus,
in search of something new. What do you think about
accepting Mr. Bright's offer?”

[figure description] Page 295.[end figure description]

“O, I hope we shall go, Mamita. The children would
be delighted with him. If Alfred had been here this morning,
he would have exclaimed, `Is n't he jolly?”'

“I think things must go cheerfully where such a sunflower
spirit presides,” responded Mrs. Delano. “And he
is certainly sufficiently au naturel to suit you and Florimond.”

“Yes, he bubbles over,” rejoined Flora. “It is n't the
fashion; but I like folks that bubble over.”

Mrs. Delano smiled as she answered: “So do I. And
perhaps you can guess who it was that made me in love
with bubbling over?”

Flora gave a knowing smile, and dotted one of her comic
little courtesies. “I don't see what makes you and Florimond
like me so well,” said she. “I'm sure I'm neither
wise nor witty.”

“But something better than either,” replied Mamita.

The vivacious little woman said truly that she was
neither very wise nor very witty; but she was a transparent
medium of sunshine; and the commonest glass, filled
with sunbeams, becomes prismatic as a diamond.

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