But he has no
friends in this country."
The physician passed on without further remark.
Soon after, the nurse returned to Marvel with the writing materials
for which he had asked. She drew a table to the side of his bed, and
supported him as he leaned over and tried, with an unsteady hand, to
write.
"Have you a wife at home?" asked the nurse; her eyes had rested on
the first words he wrote.
"Yes," sighed the young man, as the pen dropped from his fingers,
and he leaned back heavily, exhausted by even the slight effort he
had made.
"Your name is Marvel?"
"Yes."
"A young woman was here just now inquiring if we had a patient by
that name."
"By my name?" There was a slight indication of surprise.
"Yes."
Marvel closed his eyes, and did not speak for some moments.
"Did you see her?" he asked at length, evincing some interest.
"Yes."
"Did she find the one for whom she was seeking?"
"There is no person here, except yourself, whose name came near to
the one she mentioned. As you said you had no friends in this
country, we did not suppose that you were meant."
"No, no." And the sick man shook his head slowly.
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