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THE FATE OF
FELIX BRAND
BY
FLORENCE FINCH KELLY
AUTHOR OF "WITH HOOPS OF STEEL," "THE DELAFIELD AFFAIR," "RHODA
OF THE UNDERGROUND," "EMERSON'S WIFE,
AND OTHER WESTERN STORIES," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
EDWIN JOHN PRITTIE
PHILADELPHIA
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1913, by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
[Illustration: MILDRED ANNISTER MADE APPREHENSIVE INQUIRY ABOUT HIM]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FELIX BRAND HAS A MYSTERIOUS EXPERIENCE 9
II. "LIKE OTTAR OF ROSES OUT OF AN OTTER" 15
III. THE MASK OF HIS COUNTENANCE 27
IV. BILLIKINS IS FRIGHTENED 40
V. MRS. BRAND'S DREAM SON 62
VI. WHO IS HUGH GORDON? 82
VII. FELIX BRAND READS A LETTER 96
VIII. DAYS OF STRESS 113
IX. BATTLING WITH THE INVISIBLE 128
X. HUGH GORDON WINS HENRIETTA'S CONFIDENCE 140
XI. PENELOPE HAS A VISITOR 158
XII. DR. ANNISTER HAS DOUBTS 179
XIII. MILDRED IS MILITANT 190
XIV. "THERE IS NOT ROOM FOR US BOTH" 199
XV. FELIX BRAND HAS A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR 215
XVI. MRS. FENLOW IS ANGRY 230
XVII. "WHICH SHOULD HAVE THE GIFT OF LIFE?" 249
XVIII. ISABELLA TAKES ONE MORE RIDE 272
XIX. "AND YOU COULD DO THIS, FELIX BRAND!" 285
XX. "SAVE ME, DR. ANNISTER!" 295
XXI. HUGH GORDON TELLS HIS STORY 317
XXII. "A MOST INTERESTING CASE!" 335
XXIII. WHITHER? 341
ILLUSTRATIONS
MILDRED ANNISTER MADE APPREHENSIVE INQUIRY
CONCERNING HIM
_Frontispiece_
PAGE
"HARRY, DEAR, HAVE YOU HEARD FROM HIM?" 84
HE SANK FACE DOWNWARD ON THE BED 139
"MILDRED!" HIS WHITE LIPS WHISPERED, THEN STIFFENED AND
WERE STILL 340
THE FATE OF FELIX BRAND
CHAPTER I
FELIX BRAND HAS A MYSTERIOUS EXPERIENCE
Felix Brand awoke with a start and looked about him with a puzzled
stare. And yet there was nothing unfamiliar in what met his gaze. The
bed wherein he lay and its luxurious appointments were of his own
recent buying. He had himself designed the decorations of the room
and selected its furnishings. As his eyes leaped from one object to
another his bewildered glance seemed to slide unnotingly over the
furniture, and the draperies, walls and pictures, indicative of a
fastidious taste, that made up the interior of his bedroom.
But it was no more than a few seconds until his consciousness came
again into accord with his surroundings. His look of perplexity
quickly changed into one of satisfaction and amusement, and he
exclaimed aloud:
"Good Lord, how vivid that was! Never before has it been so strong!"
He rubbed his eyes, slapped his arms and moved about in the bed as if
to be assured of his bodily intactness and smiled again as he thought:
"No, I'm here, all right, and I'm I, as usual! But it seems as if I'd
only have to close my eyes to swing back into it again!"
His eyelids dropped as if in response to his thought, but quickly
opened again, with a little frown, as he murmured, "No, I guess not.
This is better!"
He rested his head upon his locked hands and stretched himself full
length upon his back, as his eyes roved about the beautiful interior.
They dwelt caressingly upon its details with the pride and pleasure of
the creator and the satisfaction of the owner for whom possession has
yet the bloom of newness.
It was a handsome face, framed in dark, waving hair, that thus lay
back against the whiteness of the pillow; dark skinned, smooth
shaven, squarish in its general outline, with regular, pleasing
features; a mobile face, whose whole seeming would depend upon
the expression by which it should be lighted. Just now it looked
sensitive, amiable, satisfied, and, at the first glance, one would be
sure that it bespoke a mind and soul of fine fibre. But if one looked
a second time and more searchingly one would perceive some clouding
and coarsening of that refinement, signs not yet marked enough to tell
their story openly and not likely to be noted by the ordinary
observer, but able to make the keener student of the human countenance
doubt his first impressions.
"It's queer how much more vivid and real those dreams are
nowadays--every time one comes it's stronger than ever it was before,"
Felix Brand's thought was running as he made ready for the day. The
illusion that had possessed him as he awoke surged through him again
and again with such force that it seemed almost strong enough to sweep
his consciousness out of his actual surroundings. Razor in hand, ready
to begin the task of shaving, a fresh onset, still more insistent,
went whirling through his brain and sent a sudden numb sensation down
his arm. He shook himself irritatedly.
"Confound it!" he muttered. "Can't I keep awake this morning? But I'm
not sleepy--I'm as wide awake as ever I was! It's queer!"
He frowned at his reflection in the mirror, then suddenly his
countenance glowed with interest. "I wonder if I could--I believe I'll
try!" he exclaimed aloud. "Jove! What an experience it would be! It's
worth trying!"
He turned to lay the razor down and felt his eyes fasten themselves in
a devouring stare upon its bright blade. An instant, and he was
startled by the sound of a strange voice which he caught just as it
was dying out of his ears, a strong, vigorous voice, speaking in tones
of authority.
"Who's that?" he cried out, glancing about the room in surprise. What
he had heard had sounded like a name and his thought snatched at it as
it faded quickly away from him. "Hugh Gordon!" he repeated softly, and
said it over to himself as he gazed dazedly about the room. Well
might he turn the name over and over in his mind and wonder about it,
for it was destined to become to him the most hateful thing in the
world.
"Nonsense! What's the matter with me this morning?" and he shrugged
impatiently. "I don't know anybody named 'Hugh Gordon' and there's
nobody in here anyway. The sound must have come from the hall, or,
maybe, from the street."
His eyes fell upon the clock and he started with surprise. "Why, it
can't be that late! Only a moment ago I looked and it was--I couldn't
have seen straight or something's gone wrong with it. Anyway, I'd
better get a move on."
He turned briskly to the mirror to resume the operation of shaving and
stared again as he put out his hand to pick up the razor. For it was
not where he had laid it down a moment before. His wondering glance
quickly discovered it on the other side of the dressing table, and
bewildered amazement overspread his countenance. It was laden with the
results of recent use.
"The devil!" he gasped. "I hadn't shaved! I hadn't even lathered!"
But the half fearful look of inquiry he darted into the mirror showed
his face to be freshly shaven, and in the usual manner, except the
upper lip, where had been left the faint, dark stubble of a mustache.