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
her, the sixpence which I have occasionally thrown to a beggar to quiet
my conscience was only half charity, because I did not add 'kind words,'
as she would say. But I wonder what people would say if I were to
inquire after the birth, parentage, and education of every
street-sweeper I came across? No, my vocation is to defend my Queen and
country, and not to act the charitable." Something whispered, "Cannot
you do both?" but Edward would not listen, and soon arrived at his
destination. The door was opened by the sick girl's mother, who, with
her "_Bon jour, monsieur! Entrez, s'il vous plait_," took Edward rather
by surprise, and would by no means hear of receiving the gift outside
the door. This was more than he had bargained for; he had come on a
message from Ellen, not for a charitable visit on her own account: but
there was no alternative, and go in he must. The woman spoke a little
English; and while she poured forth her gratitude to Miss Crawford,
together with a long account of her daughter's maladies, saying so much
in one breath that it became a question whether she would ever breathe
again, Captain Crawford looked at the sick girl lying pale and thin by
the fire; and when he thought how miserable her lot was compared even
with his sister's, whose sufferings were soothed by all that affection
could suggest or that money could buy, h