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. 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?"