"It is the picture of my sister," he said quietly, for he was now the master of his emotions.
"Then Farnsworth is your brother," said Ted.
"Yes, my brother, poor chap," answered the major, gulping down a sob.
"It is strange, very strange," muttered Ted, almost to himself. "I felt sure you were related, there was such a strong resemblance between you."
"I didn't notice it. Why didn't you speak of it?"
"Farnsworth knew that you were his brother, and I have no doubt he would have made himself known to you had he not been compelled to flee before the deputy marshals. I know that he was deeply affected at meeting you, and saw that he hesitated to make himself known."
"I didn't know him. I had not seen Fred since he was a little boy, when I went into the service. Then he went away to school, and I to India. I am much older than he, so we did not meet. When I returned to England from India he had disappeared on account of a foolish row with our father. Our only sister, Helen, had married a scamp against the wishes of the family, and had left England also. Shortly after that both our parents died, and I came to America with the intention of finding both my sister and brother, and this is how it has turned out."
Tears were coursing down the major's pale cheeks.
"Don't you see how it is?" he asked, holding out the photograph to Ted.
Suddenly it dawned upon Ted, and he took the photograph and gazed at it eagerly.