With a mournful smile gleaming through her tears, Malina arose, and tying on her bonnet, left the house. She met Phebe and Mr. Mosier near the front gate. They were sauntering toward their new dwelling, tranquil and happy; to them, every thing whispered of joy; the fragrant orchard, the birds caroling within its shadows, and all the beautiful landscape were full of pleasant associations. Every hope and thought in _their_ bosoms blossomed in unison with nature. How true it is that thought and feeling, like the sun, give color to outward things. The heart creates its own sunshine, or the cloud through which nature is revealed to it. Phebe Gray and her betrothed husband felt nothing but the sweet and the beautiful—their hearts were brimful of sunshine. But, alas, for Malina, she looked through the cloud. Malina walked on. The two contented beings by the gate were happy enough without her. She strove to smile cheerfully as they spoke to her, and in a tone of forced playfulness forbade them entering the house till their wedding day. Malina had gathered beneath the roof of that old parsonage house many luxuries almost unknown in the neighborhood; every thing calculated to gratify the fine taste of the young divine, or add to the comfort of her sister, had been unsparingly purchased, till her patrimony was almost exhausted. While this duty lasted, and the excitement of action was upon her, Malina sustained the burthen of her sorrows with an aching, but firm heart. She had taken no time for thought—scarcely for tears—but worked on, as if toiling through a feverish dream. Her cheeks were always flushed, and sometimes the music of her laugh rang loud and strangely through the bridal chamber which she was decorating; but the companions who assisted her were often startled by the reckless tone of her laugh; it was too absent and wild for happiness or merriment, entirely deficient in that low, rich melody, which had once made her voice so full of healthy joy. Yet all the neighbors were commenting on her generous conduct, and the brilliancy of her spirits; and it was often remarked that Malina Gray was never so fond of company, so careless in her mirth, or so startling in her wit, as she had been since the engagement of her sister, and since she had recovered from the slight cold which confined her to the house when that engagement was first whispered in the village.