Working in the Shade | Page 2

in her lot, and its edges were very sharp. In her aged aunt, with whom she lived, there were a harshness of character, and an inability to appreciate or sympathise with her niece, which would have made Mary Stansfield's life a burden to her had it not been for her high sense of duty, her patient charity, and God's abiding-grace in her heart. Misunderstood, thwarted at every turn, her attentions misinterpreted, her gentle forbearance made the object of keen and relentless sarcasm or lofty reproof, her supposed failings and shortcomings exposed and commented upon with ruthless bitterness, while yet the tongue which wounded never transgressed the bounds imposed by politeness, but rather chose the blandest terms wherewith to stab the deepest,--hers was indeed a life whose daily strain taxed the unostentatious grace of patience to the utmost, and made her heart often waver, while yet the settled will never lost its foothold.
How gladly, had she consulted self, would she have left her gilded prison and joined some congenial sister, as her own means would have permitted her to do, in work for God, where, after toiling abroad, she could come back to a humble home, in which her heart would be free, and generous love would answer love. But duty said "No," as she believed. The cold, hard woman who so cruelly repulsed her was her beloved father's only sister, and she had resolved that while her aunt claimed or desired her services no personal considerations should withdraw her from that house of restraint and humiliation.
Pondering the difficulties of her trying position, yet in no murmuring spirit, Mary Stansfield, on this quiet summer's evening, was just passing the boundary wall which separated Riverton Park from the adjoining property, when, to her surprise and partly amusement also, she noticed a venerable-looking old gentleman seated school-boy fashion on the top rail of a five-barred gate. The contrast between his patriarchal appearance and his attitude and position made her find it difficult to keep her countenance; so, turning her head away lest he should see the smile on her face, she was quickening her pace, when she became aware that he had jumped down from his elevated seat and was advancing towards her.
"Miss Stansfield, I suppose?" he asked, as she hesitated for a moment in her walk, at the same time raising his hat respectfully.
Surprised at this salutation, but pleased with the voice and manner of the stranger, she stopped, and replied to his question in the affirmative, and was moving on, when he added,--
"I am a stranger to you at present, my dear young lady; but I hope not to be so long. I daresay you will guess that I am the new occupier of Riverton Park. I suppose I ought properly to wait for a formal introduction before making your acquaintance; but I have lived abroad in the colonies for some years past, and colonial life makes one disposed at times to set aside or disregard some of those social barriers which are, I know, necessary in the old country; so you must excuse an old man for introducing himself, and will permit him, I am sure, to accompany you as far as your aunt's lodge."
There was something so frank, and at the same time so thoroughly courteous, about the old gentleman's address that Miss Stansfield could not be offended with him; while his age and bearing prevented her feeling that there was any impropriety in her permitting him to be her companion on the public road till she should reach the drive-gate leading up to her home. She therefore bowed her assent, and the two walked slowly forward.
"You must know, Miss Stansfield," proceeded the stranger, "that I have both seen you before and have also heard a good deal about you, though we have never met till to-day.--Ah, I know what you would say," he added, with a smile, as he noticed her look of extreme surprise and her blush of bewilderment. "You are thinking, What can I have heard about one who is leading such a commonplace, retired life as yours? I will tell you. I have been rather anxious to know what sort of neighbours I shall have round me here, so I have been getting a little reliable information on the subject--where from it matters not; and my informant has told me about an old lady whose estate adjoins Riverton Park, and who has a niece living with her who belongs to a class for which I have a special respect, and which I may call `workers in the shade.' Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly," replied his companion; "only I feel utterly unworthy of being included in such a class."
"Of course you do. And just for this reason, because you're in the habit of burning candles instead of