The Fate of Felix Brand

Henrietta found her employer in a particularly trying mood the next morning. He looked tired and worn, as though he had not slept, and his mobile countenance, always so eloquent of his state of mind that every changing emotion shone through it as through a window into his soul, told of secret harassment. So also did his tense nerves, which seemed wrought up almost to the snapping point. They vented themselves in frequent bursts of irritability and snarling anger. His secretary noticed that he started at every sudden sound, and sometimes also when she had heard nothing, and that then he would look round him in an alarmed, furtive way, as if he expected to see some menace take form out of the air. To her relief he did not return to the office after luncheon. If she had known that he was speeding in his automobile toward her home she would have taken less comfort in her quiet afternoon.

“Bella, dear, do you think you’d better go?” said her mother. “Harry seems so anxious about it, and she knows him better than we do. Hadn’t you better tell you have an engagement, and then take me out for a little walk?”

“Oh, just this one more time won’t make any difference, mother! I guess my chatter is good for him, for he always seems blue when we start out, but by the time we come home he’s in as good spirits as I am. So it would really be unkind not to go, wouldn’t it, mother?”

“Well, dear, if you think best. But I shall be anxious about you, so please ask him to bring you back as soon as he can.”

When they returned in the late afternoon Isabella caught a glimpse, as the automobile stopped and she glanced up toward her mother’s room, of a man’s figure standing beside Mrs. Marne’s chair, near the window. Brand helped her out, and then, casting a keen glance at her, with a little laugh he took her by the arm and guided her up the path and across the porch to the door. Fumbling with her key, she scarcely noticed his departure and by the time she stepped inside, his machine was disappearing down the street.

As she entered the hall she saw a man descending the stairs. Looking up uncertainly, she staggered back a little and leaned against the wall.

“Bella!” he cried joyfully, and again, “Bella, darling!” and ran down the steps.

She gave a maudlin giggle. “Warren! Warren! Such s’prise! S’ glad t’ see you!” she muttered thickly and, lurching toward him, would have fallen had he not caught her.

“Bella! What is the matter?” he exclaimed in anxious tones, and then, in a moment, sudden disgust ringing in his voice: “Bella, you’re drunk! My God! And I meant to marry you next month! Motoring with a man and coming home drunk! Good-bye, Miss Marne! It’s lucky I discovered my mistake in time!”

He snatched his hat from the rack and slammed the door behind him; and she, as understanding of what had happened dawned upon her, fell forward upon the banister with a long, agonized cry.

Mrs. Marne, lying down to rest in smiling happiness, with her heart full of pleasure as she thought of her dear one’s surprise and joy, heard that shriek and hurried in alarm to the head of the stairs. “Bella!” she called. “What is the matter? Where is Warren?”

Isabella, suddenly sobered, lifted a white, drawn face: “Oh, mother, he’s gone! He’s left me! Oh, mother, mother! It’s all over!”

She turned with sudden resolution and fled toward the dining room, so absorbed in her own wild misery that she heard and saw nothing as her mother cried out, swayed to and fro, and then toppled to the floor.

CHAPTER XIX

“And You Could Do This, Felix Brand!”

The June afternoon was glowing with sunshine and all the world was clothed in the sumptuous beauty of spring at its highest tide. Henrietta Marne looked about her as she walked slowly up the street toward her home with a heart more at ease than she had known for many weeks. For she had that day secured a position at a salary equal to that she was receiving from Felix Brand and was to begin work in it as soon as the time should expire for which she had already given him notice.

“Difficulties always disappear as soon as you tackle them in real earnest,” she was saying to herself as she smiled in pleasure of the green world all about her and of the satisfaction that glowed in her own breast. “Everything is coming out all right. When Hugh Gordon comes back he’ll be pleased to find that I’ve acted on his advice. I’m sorry, awfully sorry, about Mr. Brand – it was so delightful working for him at first, and for a long time – but if he will act like this, what can he expect?”

Glancing upward at the windows of her mother’s room as she entered her gate she was surprised not to see there a loving face on the watch for her coming. She opened the front door and the silence of the house struck her heart with a chill of apprehension.

“Mother! Bella!” she called, a flutter of alarm in her tones. “Where are you?”

“Miss Harry! Miss Harry!” came Delia’s voice in response. “Do come here, quick, quick!”

She rushed to the dining room and saw her sister stretched upon the lounge and Delia kneeling beside her. On the floor was an empty bottle bearing a death’s head and cross-bones and “strychnine” upon its label. She herself had bought it on their physician’s prescription, as a tonic for Mrs. Marne, only a few days before.

“What is it, Delia? Did she take that poison?” gasped Henrietta.

“Yes’m, she took it, the whole bottle full. I heard her scream in the hall an’ soon she come flyin’ in here, an’ she snatched up that bottle an’ swallowed all them pills before I knew what she was doin’. Then she tumbled down an’ I grabbed her an’ stuck me finger down her throat. She fought me and tried to push me away, but I wouldn’t an’ I kep’ on stickin’ me finger way down an’ after a while she spewed it all up. Oh, the dear an’ lovely darlin’, an’ her so merry an’ happy all the time! She won’t die now, will she, Miss Harry?”

Henrietta had hastily mixed an emetic and together they forced it down her throat.

“I hope she won’t, Delia – I hope you’ve saved her. But we must have a doctor now, at once. Run, Delia, and send the first person you can find as fast as he can go for a doctor to come immediately – say it’s a case of life and death.”

Delia rushed away and Henrietta, though her heart was full of anxiety about her mother, hovered over Isabella, who lay with closed eyes and ghastly face, moaning but seemingly unconscious.

Presently, fearful of what the silence of the house might mean with regard to its other occupant, she left her sister and hurried upstairs. There she found Mrs. Marne unconscious on the floor. But she knew what should be done and met the crisis with quick and capable action. And in a few moments more she heard in the hall below the voice of their own physician, whom the maid had luckily encountered nearby upon the street.

But scarcely had she supported Mrs. Marne to her bed when a shriek in Delia’s voice, followed by the cry of “Doctor! Miss Harry! Come quick!” sent her on flying feet down the stairs again. Isabella, whom she had thought unconscious, had risen and tottered to the kitchen. There the maid, rushing on from the empty dining-room, had found her beside the sink with a bottle of carbolic acid upraised, ready to pour down her throat. Delia had struck it from her hand barely in time to save her from all but a chance burn upon her cheek.

“She must have had some sudden and very serious shock,” said the physician later, as he and Henrietta stood beside the bed where Isabella lay, at last sleeping quietly but moaning in her slumber. “Her second attempt to kill herself shows how profound it must have been. But she will come through all right now, I think, though her recovery will perhaps be slow. What she will need more than anything else will be to talk, and as soon as it is prudent you must persuade her to confide in you and tell you the whole story of whatever it was that led her to take this violent measure. Her nature is one that needs sympathy and support, now far more than ever, and the sooner she can be led to pour out all her trouble the sooner she will be able to get her grip on life again. But of course you’ll keep all the knowledge of it that you can away from your mother. You’ll have to use your own discretion about that. She’s had a pretty severe shock, too, and, though she was getting on so well, it’s likely to set her back a good deal.”

For days Isabella lay in her bed, like a broken, withered flower, weeping much and asking between her sobs why they had not let her die. But at last her sister’s love and tender, persistent effort broke through the wrappings of grief and shame that had kept her bound in silence and in Henrietta’s arms she sobbed out the pitiful tale that had come to so tragic an ending.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, “I can’t understand why this awful thing should have happened when I meant no harm at all. I can’t see yet that there was anything wrong in my going out with Mr. Brand now and then. It wasn’t many times, you know, and always he had some business errand and just stopped for me to give me a little pleasure and to have some company himself. I suppose he liked to have me go with him because I was always jolly and kept him in good spirits. For I did notice, Harry, that when he came he always seemed rather blue and anxious, and then, after we had been out for a while and I had laughed and chattered a lot, he would be more cheerful and by the time we would get back he would seem quite himself again.

“Since I have been lying here and thinking and thinking, Harry, dear,” she stopped and hid her face and a shiver of shame passed over her body. Henrietta’s arms tightened about her and she whispered soothing, loving words. “I’ve been thinking, dear,” Isabella went on brokenly, “that perhaps that was why he always stopped somewhere and ordered a bottle of champagne. Because it did put me in such gay spirits and, I suppose, made me more lively and just that much better company. And that, I guess, was what he wanted. I never drank but little, never more than a glass or two, and I couldn’t see any harm in it, though you did think I oughtn’t. Sometimes I held back and asked him if he thought I’d better, and he always laughed at me and urged me on and made it seem silly in me to have scruples.

“But that last day – ” again she stopped and broke into a passion of sobbing that took all of Henrietta’s loving sympathy and tenderness to soothe. “You asked me not to go again,” she went on after a while in trembling tones, “and when he came mother, too, thought I’d better not. Oh, Harry, how I wish I had heeded you and refused to go! I could have made some excuse, and then – Oh, Harry, Harry, I don’t want to live any longer!”

“There, there, darling!” soothed her sister. “Try to control yourself and tell me all that happened. I’m sure it couldn’t have been anything so very bad. Tell me all about it, dear, and then you’ll feel better.”

“Mr. Brand seemed so different from what he used to be,” she presently went on, “and I began to understand what you told us about the change in him. I was just a little afraid after we started, he seemed to be in such an ugly temper and, oh, Harry, what a bad man he looks now! I begged him to bring me home again after a little while, but he wouldn’t and said his business was too important to be put aside for my whims.

“I was a little frightened and a good deal anxious and so of course I wasn’t as gay as usual, and that seemed to make him angry. Then he said we’d stop and have some wine and I thought perhaps it would be best to humor him and then maybe I could persuade him to bring me home. I meant not to drink more than a glass, but he made me – perhaps he thought it would make me more lively. Anyway, he was so rough in his manner and looks and there was such an angry gleam in his eyes that I was too frightened not to do what he told me to. And by the time we got home I was – oh, Harry, I can’t say it – and Warren met me as I came in and saw – and he said – an awful thing – and rushed away – and it’s all over, Harry – I can never see him again – it’s all over.”

“Don’t think that, yet, Bella, dear. I’ll write to him and explain it all, and he’ll know it wasn’t your fault. He won’t blame you. He’s too kind-hearted and good not to see that it was hasty of him to act as he did.”

“That won’t matter, Harry. I’d like him to know that I’m not the kind of woman he seemed to think. But I could never, never look him in the face again after – that – after what he saw and said. I’d always think he was thinking of it. It’s all over, Harry, it’s all over.”

When at last Henrietta had soothed her sister to sleep she stood beside the bed looking down at Isabella’s grief-stricken face and listening to the sobs that now and then convulsed her throat.

“And you could do this, Felix Brand!” she said bitterly. “You, that we thought so noble and good! Hugh Gordon is right – you are a wicked man, and if you are the one he meant you don’t deserve to live!”

CHAPTER XX

“Save Me, Dr. Annister!”

Mildred Annister, passing the open door of her father’s waiting room, sent into it a casual glance, came to a sudden stop, and then, with a brightening face, went quickly in, saying softly, “Felix!” Sweeping the room with her eyes she saw that he was its only occupant and ran toward him, holding out her hands and asking, apprehensively:

“Felix! You’re waiting to see father! Are you ill?”

She put her hands upon his shoulders and studied his face with anxious scrutiny for an instant, until, yielding to the pressure of his arms, she sank upon his breast with a murmur of happy laughter.

“No, dearest, I’m not ill – you can see how perfectly well I look. It’s just a little nerve tire, I guess, and I want to ask Dr. Annister to prescribe a tonic for me. It’s nothing of any consequence.”

She drew back and studied his face again. Even her fascinated eyes began to see in it something different from the look of the man who had won her love so completely a year before. She was conscious of a little shiver, that meant, she knew not what, but kept her from yielding when he would press her again into his arms.

“I’m afraid – Felix, dear – I know you must be working too hard. That’s what’s the matter and that’s what makes you look – a little – strange. You are tired. You are doing such lots of work. And you mustn’t break down – now!” With another happy, loving little laugh she gave up and nestled against his shoulder, while he kissed her cheek and brow and lips.

“Felix!” she exclaimed, “I’m standing out bravely against that trip to Europe father is so determined I shall take with mother this summer. I won’t go and leave you. He hasn’t said so much about it lately, because he’s not well and mother is anxious about him. I’ve almost persuaded her that she ought not to leave him.”

She paused a moment, her face rosy with his caresses. Her eyes sought his and her voice sank to a whisper. “Felix, dear heart, if we could only go there alone together! Can’t we tell them and then just go away by ourselves?”

“I don’t think we’d better tell them yet. Your father seems to have become opposed to us, for some reason, and I’m trying to win him over. We must wait a little.”

“It’s only because he can’t bear to think of my marrying any one. He doesn’t want to give me up – ”

“I don’t blame him for that!”

“But he’ll have to some time, and – oh, Felix! I wish we could tell him, and mother, soon! It makes me feel so underhanded, and it mars my happiness, just a little, darling. Don’t you think it would be better to face the music and have it over with?”

The sound of Dr. Annister’s voice dismissing a patient came to their ears and she sprang out of his embrace. “No, no! don’t whisper a word of it,” he hastily adjured her. “We must wait a little while longer. Remember what I say.” There was a touch of impatience, almost of roughness, in his tone as he spoke the last words that made her turn wondering eyes upon him for an instant. But her father was opening the door into his consulting room and now came forward with an outstretched hand. She put her arm through her lover’s and walked with him into the office.

“This naughty boy has been working too hard, father,” she said gaily, “and he has that tired feeling. I think you’d better prescribe a six months’ rest and a trip around the world!”

She was smiling persuasively at her father and did not see the look of irritation that leaped into Brand’s eyes as he turned them suddenly upon her. Then he laughingly shook his head, saying:

“It would be a bigger dose than I could swallow, I’m afraid. I have too many contracts on my hands now to be able to take any such French leave as that.”

“Anyway, father,” she insisted as she moved toward the door and, from behind the doctor’s back, threw her lover a kiss, “you must tell him not to overwork himself, as he’s been doing lately.”

“Well, Felix, what is it? What’s the trouble?” said the little physician kindly, as he sank back into the depths of his capacious arm-chair.

But the architect was ill at ease. He sprang up from the chair where he had just seated himself and began walking back and forth in the narrow space. His whole soul was in rebellion against the confession he had come there to make.

“Perhaps you will remember, Dr. Annister,” he began, broke off, stopped to wipe his brow, then stumbled on: “It was here in your office – you will remember, when I recall it to you – some time ago, you told me – you asked me about – certain things, and urged me to come to you – if at any time I felt I needed your help.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” the doctor rejoined in encouraging tones. He was looking at Brand with a searching gaze and saying to himself: “Faugh! How repulsive his face has grown! He’s going to tell me the whole truth this time!”

Brand was silent again and the doctor went on, a little more briskly: “Well, let’s begin and have it over with. You must bear in mind that the secrets of the physician’s office are as sacred as those of the confessional.”

“I know it, Dr. Annister. But it’s a strange story I have to tell you, and I don’t know whether or not you can help me. I thought I could fight it out myself and win, but I can’t. And if you can’t help me God knows what will become of me.”

His voice sank despairingly and he dropped into the chair again, his face in his hands.

“I’ll do my best, Felix, whatever it is,” the other encouraged again. “Don’t hesitate to confide in me. I’ve listened to many, many strange stories in this room, and only the walls are any the wiser.”

“I suppose I’m ill.” Brand started up again and moved about with uneasy steps. “I believe you physicians have decided it’s an illness – and I think you’ve treated some cases – ” he halted and seemed to gather up resolution for his next words – “dissociated, or dual, personality – that’s what you call it, isn’t it?”

Dr. Annister sat bolt upright and for an instant could not put under professional control the surprise that crossed his face. But Brand, half turned away, was gazing at the floor as if he found it difficult to meet his companion’s eyes. He was conscious of an edge of impersonal interest in the physician’s voice:

“Yes, I’ve done a little in that line – a few cases – but nothing to equal in importance the work of one or two others. But I’ve been pretty successful. Doubtless I can help you. Go on. Tell me about it.”

“It’s that damned Hugh Gordon!” the architect broke out, turning savagely toward the doctor, his face distorted with anger and his eyes blazing. “He’s fighting me for my body! He said he’d push me off the edge, and he’s doing it. Save me, Dr. Annister! Save me from him! Send him back to where he came from!” In sudden realization of the fate that threatened him Brand sank trembling into his chair.

“I’ll try, Felix, I’ll do my best, and I’m sure I can help you. But you must tell me everything about it. How long has this condition been going on? When did it begin?”

“Oh, I hardly know how to answer that, it came about so gradually. Last fall, in October, was the first time he – he – came out. But long before that he was alive, inside of me, and I knew about him sometimes in my dreams. For years, ever since I was a boy, I have had occasionally a curious experience in a dream. I would be in the dream always, but not as myself. I would know, in the dream and afterwards, that it was I who was feeling, thinking, acting, talking, but at the same time it would seem to be an entirely different personality. Of course there is always more or less of that feeling in a dream, but in this case the divergence was so sharp and the consciousness of a different individuality was so distinct that it was just as if my mind, or soul, or whatever it is that holds the essence of myself, had left me and taken possession of some other individual. Can you tell me what that meant, Dr. Annister? For it was the beginning of the whole business, and I’ve thought, sometimes, that I might have saved myself all —this. Do you think I could?”

Dr. Annister was gazing at his patient with inscrutable eyes, sitting upright, his fingers tapping. “I can’t say now, Felix. I don’t know enough yet. But this experience was probably due to your sub-conscious self. For we are pretty well assured that there is an existence, perhaps more than one, in every human being subordinate to that of which he is conscious, which is himself. Submerged beneath the full stream of his conscious existence, with all its phases of physical and psychical activity, this other existence goes on. In most people it is either so deeply submerged or so closely bound up in their conscious existence that they never know anything about it. Sometimes they catch dim glimpses of it, and once in awhile, in one person out of many millions, some nervous shock will break the bonds between the two and the submerged consciousness will rise to the surface and take possession. That is probably what happened in your dreams, with, doubtless, some shock at the beginning to make it possible. Did these dreams occur frequently?”

“I don’t think they did at first. But I was too young and thoughtless to take any account of them. I remember that they occurred once in a while in my teens. Afterwards they became more frequent and the impression they made upon me was much stronger. Then that impression began to remain with me after I was awake, more as a memory at first, an unusually vivid remembrance of a dream state. Then it grew so strong that for an hour or two after waking it would dominate me and I could feel myself almost swaying back into that other person I had been while I was asleep and dreaming. I thought it would be a curious and interesting experience if I could slip over into this other person sometimes while I was awake. You know you get rather tired sometimes of your own individuality.”

He stopped and smiled, then went on: “It has never been my habit to pass by any interesting or pleasurable experience that came my way.”

The smile became almost a leer and then stiffened into a sneering defiance as his gaze met the clear gray eyes of the physician, impersonal, professional, unresponding. The doctor’s chin rested upon his locked fingers and his eyes were fastened upon the other’s face. Brand did not know how much of his soul that searching gaze was gradually forcing him to reveal.

“I have always thought,” he went on, as if moved by an impulse of self-defense, the half-leering, half-sneering smile still on his face, “that a man has the right to sample all the pleasures that come within his reach. It’s the only way by which he can come into full knowledge of himself, and so reach his highest development. And that, I take it, is one of the things a man lives for. Therefore he owes it to himself to let nothing pass by him untried.”

Brand ceased speaking and waited as if he expected some response. “Don’t you agree with me?” he said, after a moment of silence, in his old, suave and deferent manner.

“Eh? Agree with you? Oh, my opinion on that matter is of no consequence just now. You were speaking about this other individuality beginning to dominate you after you awoke. What happened then?”

The architect straightened up and sent an irritated glance toward his companion. But that clear gaze had established too firm a hold over his will to be swayed by sudden temper. He fidgeted in his chair, then took up his story again: