Just as they were going to return to the house a man passed by, and
touched his hat to Miss Crawford in the somewhat off-hand manner which
(we must confess it) our fellow-countrymen usually employ. Ellen stopped
a moment to make some inquiries of him about his wife and children, and
then turned home-wards, saying, as she took her brother's arm,--

"I dare say a good dinner would do that man's daughter a world of good;
she is ill, and they are very poor: but then there is no way of sending
it."

"Where do they live?" asked Edward.

"Oh, it is half-an-hour's walk: they live close to the beach."

"I'll take it," said he; and added, by way of apology, "I should rather
like a walk before dinner."

A happy gleam passed over Ellen's face, but she only said,--

"Thank you, Edward," and gave him one very bright look, when he left her
on her sofa and went to fetch some meat for the sick girl.

It was with feelings of amusement, rather than anything else, that
Edward set out on what was probably the first errand of mercy he had
ever undertaken. He had done it merely to please his sister, and could
not help laughing at the idea of what some of his brother-officers would
say if they could see Crawford of the ---- Regiment carrying food to a
sick girl. But his conversation with Ellen soon returned to his mind,
and the thought struck him, "If my good, unselfish little sister, thinks
her time and money have been wasted, what have mine been? According to