Nevertheless it is mighty eerie to hear it unawares.

For the twentieth time the famous specialist picked up a letter and
read it from beginning to end.

"Strange, Jim, old fellow," said he as he laid it down, "strange how I
think of you to-night. Seeing your little one, I suppose. But somehow
to-night more than ever I feel the blank you made in my life when you
left. How you'd have loved the kiddie, Jim. Strange wee soul with a
shadow already on her life--a big black shadow, Jim, which I--I am
going----!"

He turned his head and looked over his shoulder.

"Ugh!" he said, as he turned back to the desk and drew the book towards
him.

"Leonie Hetth--age seven--walks in her sleep and dreams--dreams are
evidently of India--things that walk softly and purr--a small
light--and wet red which may mean blood--green eyes and a black woman
who--who----"

Once more he ran his hand through his hair, but time irritably, then
shook his head from side to side rubbed his hand across his eyes.

"I've been sitting up too late these last few nights over that opium
case. Don't seem to be able to collect or hold my thoughts. Jim, old
fellow, I wonder what made you leave Leonie in the care of that damn
silly, shallow woman, and I wonder how you could ever have produced
anything so highly strung and temperamental as your little daughter. I