"Have you friends in this country?" inquired a nurse who was
attending the young man. This question was asked on the day after he
had become an inmate of the hospital.
"None," was the feebly uttered reply.
"You are very ill," said the nurse.
The sick man looked anxiously into the face of his attendant.
"You have friends in England?"
"Yes."
"Have you any communication to make to them?"
Marvel closed his eyes, and remained for some time silent.
"If you will get me a pen and some paper, I will write a few lines,"
said he at length.
"I'm afraid you are too weak for the effort," replied the nurse.
"Let me try," was briefly answered.
The attendant left the room.
"Is there any one in your part of the house named Marvel?" asked a
physician, meeting the nurse soon after she had left the sick man's
room. "There's a young woman down in the office inquiring for a
person of that name."
"Marvel--Marvel?" the nurse shook her head.
"Are you certain?" remarked the physician.
"I'm certain there is no one by that name for whom any here would
make inquiries. There's a young Englishman who came over in the last
packet, whose name is something like that you mention.
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