surgery. This had caused the lapse of memory.

Then had come the second blow that night of the wreck. Where man had
failed, nature had stepped in and operated successfully. Her methods
had been crude, but effective. The unscientific blow on the head had
restored the dislodged bone to its proper place. The medical world was
highly pleased over this manifestation of nature's surgical skill, and
appeared to think that she had operated under its direction. And nature
never denied it.

As Garrison opened his eyes, dazed, weak as water, memory, full,
complete, rushed into action. His brain recalled everything--everything
from the period it is given man to remember down to the present. It
was all so clear, so perfect, so workmanlike. The long-halted clock of
memory was ticking away merrily, perfectly, and not one hour was missing
from its dial. The thread of his severed life was joined--joined in such
a manner that no hitch or knot was apparent.

To use a third simile, the former blank, utterly fearsome space, was
filled--filled with clear writing, without blotch or blemish. And on
the space was not recorded one deed he had dreaded to see. There were
mistakes, weaknesses--but not dishonor. For a moment he could not grasp
the full meaning of the blessing. He could only sense that he had indeed
been blessed above his deserts.

And then as Garrison understood what it all meant to him; understood the
chief fact that he had not deserted wife and children; that Sue might
be won, he crushed his face to the pillow and cried--cried like a little
child.