The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1896-09-12
own. The thing vas horribly apparent.
He threw himself into a Chair. and began

He threw himself fnto a chair. and began
to think. Suddenly there flashed across his
mind What he had said in Basil Hallward's
studio tho day the picture had been finished.
Yes, he remembered it perfectly. He had
uttered q mad wish that he himself might
remain young, and the portrait grow old;
that his own beauty might DO untarnished,
and the face on The convas bear the burden
of his passions and his sins; that the paint
ed image might be scared with tho lines of
suffering and thought, and that he might keep
the delicate bloom and lovelincss of his then
Just conscious boyhood. Surely his a
had not been answered. Such things were
impossible. IL seemed monstrous even to
think of them. And, yet, there Vas the
picture before him, with the touch of cruelty
in the mouth.
Cruelty, Had he been cruell It was the
girls fault, not his. He had dreamed of her
as q great artist, had given his owe to her
because he had thought her great. Then sue
had disappointed him. She had been
shallow and unworthy. And, yet, a feeling
OF mimic regret came over him, as he
thought of her lying at his feet sobbing like
a little child. He remembered with what
callousness he had watched her. Why had
no been made like that2 Why had such Il
soul been given to himl But he had suffered
also. During the three terrible hours that
the play had lasted, he had lived centuries
OF pain, con upon con of torture. His life
was well worth hers. She had married him
Tor a moment, if he had wounded her for an
age. Besides, women were better suited to
bear sorrow than men. They lived on their
emotions. They only thought of their
emotions. When they took lovers, it was
merely to have some one with whom they
could have scenes. Lord Henry had told
him that, and Lord Henry knew what
women were. Why should he trouble about
Sibyl Vane} She was nothing to him now.
But that pictured Whit was he to say to
that 1t held the secret of his life, and told
his story. 1t had taught him to love his
own beauty. Would it teach him to loathe
his own SOUL Would he ever look at it
againl
No; it was merely an illusion wrought on
the troubled senses. Tho horrible night
that he had passed had left phantoms be-
hind it. Suddenly there had fallen upon his
brain that tiny scarlet speck that makes
men mad. The picture had not changed.
1t was folly to think so.
Yet it was watching him, with its cruel
smile. Its bright hair cleaned in the early
AAASh Ill o4hS StSo AAiSb LID w "a
sense Of infinite pity, not for himself, but
for the painted image of himself, came over
him. It had altered already, and would
alter more. Its gold would wither into
gray. Its red and white roses would die.
For every sin that he had committed, a
stain would feck and wreck its fairness.
But he would not sin. Tho picture, changed
or unchanged, would be to him the visible
emblem Of conscience, He would resist
temptation. He would not SOC Lord Henry
any more-would not, at any rate, listen to
subtle poisonous theories that in Basil Hall
wards garden had first stirred within him
TIE passion for impossible things. He would
go back to Sibyl Vane, make her amends,
marry her, try to love her again. Yes it
was his duty to do so. She must have
suffered more than he had. Poor childl
He had been selfish and cruel to her. The
fascination that she had exercised over him
would return. They would be happy to-
gether. His life with her would be beauti-
full and pure.
He got up from his chair and drew a
large screen right in front of the portrait,
shuddering as he glanced ut 1t. "How hor-
riblei" he murmured to himself, and he
walked across to the window and opened it.
When he stepped out on the grass, he drew
q deep breath. The fresh morning air
seemed to drive away all his somber
passions. He thought only of Sibyl Vane.
A faint echo of his love came back to him.
He repeated her lame over and over again.
The birds that Were singing in the dew
drenched garden seemed to be telling the
flowers about her.
CHAPTER VI.
--,, - $50. 49,.
His valet had crept several times into the
room on tiptoe to see if he was stirring, and
had wondered what made his young master
sleep so late. Finally his boil sounded, and
Victor came in softly with a cup 0 f'tea, and
a pile Of letters, on a small tray of old
Sevres china, and drew back tho olive
satin curtains, with their shimmering blue
lining, that hung in front of the three tall
windows.
sMonsieur has slept well this morning.
he said, smiling.
"What o'clock is it, yictora" asked Dorian
Gray sleepily.
"One hour and q quarter, monsieur"
How late it wasl He sat up, and, having
slipped some tea, turned over his letters,
One of them was from Lord Henry, and had
been brought to hand that morning. He
hesitated for a moment, and then put it
aside. The others he opened listlessly.
They contained the usual collection of cards,
invitations to dinner, tickets for private
views, programmes of charity concerts. and
the like. that arc showered on fashionable
young men every morning during the
season. There was a rather heavy bill, for
a chased silver Louis Quinze toilet-set, that
no had not yet had tho courage to send on to
his guardians, who were extremely old
fashioned people and did not realize that we
live in an age when only unnecessary things
are absolutely necessary to US; and there
were several very courteously worded COM
munlcations from Jermyn Street money
lenders offering to advance any sum Of
money at a moments notice and at the most
reasonable rates Of interest.
After about ten minutes he got up, and
throwing on a n elaborate dressing-gown,
passed into the onyx-paved bathroom. The
cool water refreshed him after his long
sleep. He seemed to have forgotten all that
no had gone through. A dim sense of hav-
ing taken part in some strange tragedy came
to him once or twice, but there WAS the un-
reality of a dream about it.
AS soon as he was dressed, he went into
the library and sat down to alight French
breakfast, that had been laid out for him on
q small round table close to IN open win
dow. 1t was an exquisite day. The warm
air seemed laden with spices. A beo flew
IN, and buzzed round tho blue-drsgon bowl,
filled with su~lphur-yellow roses. that stood
In front Of him. He felt perfectly happy.
Suddenly his eye fell on the screen that
he had placed in front Of the portrait, and
he started.
"Too cold for monsieuri" asked his valet,
putting an omelet on the table. II shut the
windowin
Dorian shook his head. 81 am not cold,n
he murmured.
Was it all true7 Had tho portrait really
~ohangedf Or had 1t been simply his W
imagination that had made him SEQ a look
OF evil where had been o look of joyi Surely
a painted canvas could not alterl Tho thing
was absurd. 1t would servo US a tale to tell
Basil some day. 1t would mako him smile.
And yet how vivid was his recollection Of
the whole thingl First In the dim twilight,
and then in tho bright dawn, he had seen
the touch of cruelty in the warped lips. He
almost dreaded his valet leaving tho room.
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