Probably one glance at the sweet face it contained did as much to place the patient out of danger as days of nursing.
“Look, Hans—look for yourself. Is she not beautiful?”
No wonder that Ingomar started as he looked upon it, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.
“Yes, Hans, a portrait of my Marie.”
“Nay, but my Marie—my sister Marie.”
“Thank God,” murmured Curtis.
He did not speak again for several seconds.
“I say thank God, Hans, for this reason. Ever since we met I have been struck by the strange likeness there is between you and Marie; and being of the same name, I could not help thinking that you might be some near relative—a cousin, and perhaps a lover. My mind is now relieved, and I shall get speedily well.”
“But still I am puzzled. Where did you meet poor Marie?”