When a new lease of life was granted to John Darrell and he awoke to
consciousness, it was to find that every detail of his past life had
been blotted out, leaving only a blank. Of his home, his friends, of his
own name even, not a vestige of memory was left. It was as though he had
entered upon a new existence.
By degrees, as he was able to hear them, he was given the details of his
arrival at Ophir, of his coming to The Pines, of the tragedy which he
had witnessed in the sleeping-car, but they awoke no memories in his
mind. For him there was no past. As a realization of his condition
dawned upon him his mental distress was pitiable. Despite the efforts of
physician and nurse to divert his mind, he would lie for hours trying to
recall some fragment from the veiled and shrouded past, but all in vain.
Yet, with returning physical strength, many of his former attainments
seemed to return to him, naturally and without effort. Dr. Bradley one
day used a Latin phrase in his hearing; he at once repeated it and,
without a moment's hesitation, gave the correct rendering, but was
unable to tell how he did it.
"It simply came to me," was all the explanation he could give.
From this the physician argued that the memory of his past life would
sooner or later return, and it was this hope alone which at that time
saved Darrell from total despair.
Aside from his professional interest in so peculiar a case, Dr. Bradley
had become interested in Darrell himself; many of his leisure hours were
spent at The Pines, and quite a friendship existed between the two.
In Mr. Underwood and his sister Darrell had found two steadfast friends,
each seeming to vie with the other in thoughtful, unobtrusive kindness.
His strange misfortune had only deepened and intensified the sympathy
which had been first aroused by the peculiar circumstances under which
he had come to them. But now, as then, they said little, and for this
Darrell was grateful. Even the silent pity which he read in their eyes
hurt him,--why, he could scarcely explain to himself; expressed in
words, it would have been intolerable. Early in his convalescence
Darrell had expressed an unwillingness to trespass upon their kindness
by remaining after he could with safety be moved, but the few words they
had spoken on that occasion had effectually silenced any further
suggestion of the kind on his part. He understood that to leave them
would be to forfeit their friendship, which he well knew was of a sort
too rare to be slighted or thrown aside.