f 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?"

No one spoke for a few moments, but the old lady bowed her head upon her
hands and wept silently. Then she stretched out a hand to the colonel,
without raising her head, and said in a half-stifled whisper, "Thank
you, thank you, faithful friend. Mary shall undertake the post if she
will."

Ah yes! Light had shone into that clouded spirit; the shadows were
passing