THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
wished her to find me. It was six years later that God turned His attention to me. One night I was reading in my study. A strange thing happened. I heard a voice calling. It was a child's voice, troubled with tears. I did not understand at first. I took up my book again, but that voice was insistent. Was it mental telegraphy? I don't know. But that child's voice called to me all through the night. It was God warning me that I was a father. Next day, stirred by something, I knew not what, I sat down and wrote Doris my first letter. I have always called her Doris because that was her mother's name. That first letter was a lie; but I was not conscious of that at the time. I wanted to write to her, but I didn't want her. I told her that I was an explorer, an archeologist, that I was too far away to come to her. In an old book of theatrical celebrities I found the portrait of a man who had been dead many years and many years forgotten. I sent it with the letter. In such a dreadful manner I smothered the first call of conscience. Some months later I was again stirred to write. There was an imperative desire to learn
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