At the Time Appointed

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.