“I fear so, dear aunt. I cannot help thinking that, as some one has said of faith, so it may be said of true unselfishness, that ‘it is colourless like water,’—it makes no show nor assertion of itself. But dear Grace Willerly is a sterling character for all that.”
“So then,” said the colonel, after a pause, “I must give up in despair, must I? No, that will never do. Now, I am wanting a quiet worker in the shade for poor Bridgepath,—some young lady friend who has a little leisure time, and will go now and then and read in the cottages there the Word of God, and give some loving counsel to those who need it so much. I have the good vicar’s full consent and approbation; he will gladly welcome any such helper as I may find for the post. It will be a true labour of love; and, without any more words I am come to ask Miss Stansfield if she will spare her niece for the good work, and Miss Mary if she will be willing to undertake it.”
The reply of the two ladies, who were equally taken by surprise, was in each case made in a single word, and that word very characteristic. “Impossible!” cried the old lady. “Me!” exclaimed the younger one.
“Nay, not impossible, dear friend,” said the colonel gently. “I want this service of love only once a week for an hour or two, and I am sure you can spare my young friend for that time.—And as for yourself, Miss Mary, I believe, from what I have seen of you, that you are just fitted for the work; and I am sure that you are too sincere to excuse yourself on the ground of an unfitness which you do not really feel.”
“And what am I to do?” asked the old lady bitterly.
“Exercise a little of this true unselfishness, dear friend. You see there are many ways in which you too can show true unselfishness in the cause of that Master whom I know you truly love, though he has laid you aside from much active work for him.”
Miss Stansfield did not answer for a time; she looked pained, but the bitterness had passed away from her countenance. Evading an immediate reply, she said, “I don’t understand these many ways in which I can show unselfishness, Colonel Dawson.”
“Do you not? May I mention some?”
“Yes, do,” she replied earnestly.
“Well, bear with me then, while I make one or two suggestions which our late conversations have been leading up to. I will imagine myself in your place, and looking out to see where I may best put the stamp of the Cross on my life. I am wishing to do good, I am trying to do good: but may it not be that my benevolence is sometimes rendered so ungraciously that it gives more pain than pleasure to those who receive it? Ah, then, I will put the stamp of the Cross here. I will try, not only to do good, but to do it graciously. Perhaps, again, I am looking upon suffering and natural infirmity of temper as an excuse for harshness and hard judgment, and not as a call to exercise charity, patience, and forbearance. Then let me put the stamp of the Cross here also. Or, once more, perhaps I am in the habit of looking for the weeds rather than the flowers, for the shadows rather than the sunshine, in my lot. Well, then, here again I may place the stamp of the Cross, by exercising quiet, unostentatious self-denial and unselfishness before the loving eyes of him who has made us for himself, and redeemed us that we might in all things glorify him. Might I not thus, dear friend, exhibit true unselfishness, and at the same time brighten my own heart, and also the hearts of others?”