"Yes, I refer to the queer condition of brain which men of your house have inherited for several generations. It is a queer doom; I am forced to say it is an awful doom. Robert Awdrey, it has fallen upon you."
"I thought as much," said Awdrey, "but you never would believe it before."
"I had not cause to believe it before. Now I fully believe it. That lapse of memory, which is one of its remarkable symptoms, has taken place in your case. You have forgotten a very important fact in your life."
"Ah, you are wrong there," said Awdrey. "I certainly have forgotten my walking-stick. I know well that I am a queer fellow. I know too that at times my condition is the reverse of satisfactory, but with this one exception I have never forgotten anything of the least consequence. Don't you remember telling me that the lapse of memory was not of any moment?"
"It was not, but you have forgotten something else, Awdrey, and it is my duty now to remind you of it."
"I have forgotten?" began Awdrey. "Well, speak."
"You had a child—a beautiful child."
Awdrey interrupted with a laugh.
"I do declare you have got that delusion, too," he said. "I tell you, Dr. Rumsey, I never had a child."
"Your child is no longer with you, but you had a child. He lived for four years but is now dead. This very afternoon he was laid in his grave. He was a beautiful child—more lovely than most. He died after twenty-four hours' illness. His mother is broken-hearted over his loss, but you, his father, have forgotten all about it. Here is the picture of your child—come to the light and look at it."