“I must go home,” she said in confusion, moving toward the door. Mr. Mosier extended his hand. “We have performed a painful and yet pleasant duty together in this house,” he said; “the thanks of the departed are already yours, may I offer mine? It may be wrong to think so, but young and gentle women hovering near a sick bed seem to me angels of earth, consigning the sufferer to sister angels in heaven. Good night, my dear Miss Gray. To-morrow, by your kind mother’s invitation, I shall make my home at your house.” Malina started, and a look of exquisite happiness beamed over her face. “To-morrow!” she repeated, unconscious of the rich tones which joy gave to her voice. “Yes, I shall stay here to-night,” he replied in the same tranquil tones, but a little more sadly. “The solemn scene through which we have passed unfits me for any thing but solitude. I never knew till now how beautiful and holy are the links which bind a minister to his people. It is sweet to think how completely our brother’s spirit was borne up to heaven on the hearts of those who had listened to him so many years.” “He was indeed a good man, and we all loved him,” murmured Malina Gray. “And such love would fill any life with sunshine; but God bless you, my dear Miss Gray, seek repose to-night, for your strength must be overtaxed with so much watching. I will see you in the morning, and our departed friend’s pet shall come with me.” Malina longed to say how happy his visit would make her home, how full of delight she was, but some intuitive feeling checked her tongue, and murmuring a few indistinct words she turned away in a tumult of strange happiness. When she reached home, Malina went directly to her chamber, took off her bonnet, and lying down on the bed, drew the curtains and fell into a pleasant half sleepy day dream, with her eyes fixed languidly on the folds of snowy muslin which fell around her and on the rose branches seen dimly through as they waved and rustled before the open sash. All at once she started, and turning her damask cheek upon the pillow, stole both hands up to her face as if some thought of which she was half ashamed had crept to her heart. It was no guilty thought, but Malina blushed when it broke upon her mind, that she might some day live in the old parsonage which had become her property, and that he who was now resting beneath its roof might share her home. She was dreaming on. The tinge of gold which fell over her bed drapery as the sun sunk behind Castle-rock had long since died away, and the chamber was filled with the misty and pleasant gloom of a summer twilight, and yet Malina lay dreaming on. Phebe came softly into the apartment, lifted the curtains, and stealing her arms around the recumbent girl, laid her own pure cheek against the rich damask of her sister’s.