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?" an