"Thank you, Doctor," I replied, eager to get away, "I'll be very careful." "And remember, no more than ten minutes this first time." I nodded and opened the door. Helen was propped up in bed and showed unmistakably the great suffering she had been through. She was pale and wan, but smiled when she saw me and gave me her cheek to kiss. "Good morning," she whispered. "The flowers were lovely." "I'm glad you liked them, Sis, dear," I said, sitting down by the side of her bed. I asked her the usual questions, how she felt and if she wanted anything, and then tried to lead up to the only question that was of any consequence to either of us. "Helen, dear, there are certain questions about your accident that have puzzled us. The doctor said that you could talk for ten minutes this morning and I want to ask you some questions." "Wait a minute!" she interrupted. "Did the doctor say I might really talk this morning?" "Yes, dear." "There are a hundred questions then that you must answer me. I want to know so many things." She looked away and passed a thin hand over her forehead. Finally she turned her big brown eyes toward me and said: "First, tell me who I am!" For a brief second I felt numb all through. My brain whirled until I thought my head would burst. "Helen, dear, what did you say?" My speech was thick, as though my tongue was swollen. Still keeping her gaze fixed on me, she continued: "They call me Helen, and I gather that you are my brother. There is a beautiful girl who comes here every day. She and I seem to be great friends, but I don't know her, I have heard them call her Mary; tell me who she is!" If I could have run from the room I should have done so. A horror gripped me such as I never felt before. Then I saw two large tears tremble in Helen's eyes, overflow and course down her cheeks and I gathered all the strength that I could muster for the task of trying to awaken a memory that had apparently ceased to function. "Helen, dearest little sister, I am your brother. The beautiful girl you speak of is Mary Pendleton, one of the best and truest friends you ever had. She was your bridesmaid, don't you remember?" Helen shook her head weakly. "I have been married, then?" she asked. "You were married to James Felderson. Can't you remember him?" I begged. Again she shook her head. "No. It's all gone." She thought hard a minute, then she asked: "He is dead--my husband?" "Yes," I muttered, trying to keep the tears back, "he was killed in the same accident--" "What was he like?" she interrupted.