ther, are you, or any relation?"

"No, only your friend," he said, smiling.

She was troubled like a child, biting her lip, and turning her face from
him to hide the threatening tears. There was evidently some question she
could not bring herself to ask. He could not guess what it was.
Certainly not the one she did ask.

"What time is it?"

"Past seven o'clock."

"That means nothing to me," she burst out bitterly. "It's like the first
hour to me. It's so foolish to be asking such questions! I don't know
what's the matter with me! I don't even know my own name!"

That was it! "Your name is Clare Starling," he said steadily.

"What am I doing in a shack in the woods?"

He hesitated before answering this. His first fright had passed. He had
heard of people losing their memories, and knew that it was not
necessarily a dangerous state. Indeed, now, this wiping-out of
recollection seemed like a merciful dispensation, and he dreaded the
word that would bring the agony back.

"Don't ask any more questions now," he begged her. "Just rest up for the
moment, and take things as they come."

"Something terrible has happened!" she said agitatedly. "That is why I
am like this. You're afraid to tell me what it is. But I must know.
Nothing could be so bad as not knowing anything. It is unendurable not
to have any identity. Don't you understand? I am empty inside here. The
me is gone!"

He arose and stood beside her bed. "I ask you to trust me," he said
gravely. "I am the only doctor available. If you excite yourself like
this only harm can come of it. Everything is all right now. You have
nothing to fear. People who lose their memories always get them back
again. If you do not remember of yourself I promise to tell you
everything that has happened."

"I will try to be patient," she said dutifully.

Presently she asked: "Is there no one here but us? I thought I
remembered a woman--or did I dream it?"

Stonor called Mary in and introduced her. Clare's eyes widened. "An
Indian woman!" their expression said.

Stonor said, as if speaking of the most everyday matter: "Mary, Miss
Starling's memory is gone. It will soon return, of course, and in the
meantime plenty of food and sleep are the best things for her. She has
promised me not to ask any more questions for the present."

Mary paled slightly. To her, loss of memory smacked of insanity of which
she was terribly in awe--like all her race. However, under Stonor's
stern