Working in the Shade | Page 2

of her
home. Yet there was a heavy cross 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