The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1896-10-03

tents OF her bunch with TREMENDOUSLY uncert-
ain hands. sHcre IS the key. I'll have 1t
of the ring in q moment. But you don't
think of living up there, Master Dorian,
and you so comfortable here!1
Mo, Leaf, ] don't. ] merely want to see
the place, and perhaps store something in it
that is all. Thank you, Leaf. 1 hope
your rheumatism is better; and mind you
send mo up jam for breakfast"
Mrs. Leaf shook Ter head. "rThem for.
eigners doesn't understand Jam, Master
Dorian. They calls it .compot.' But I'll
bring ii to you myself some morning, il vol
lets ms.n
THAT will be very kind of You, Leaf he
answered. looking at the key; and. having
made him an elaborate courtesy, the old
lady left the room, her face wreathed in
smiles. She had a strong objection to the
French valet. 1t was u poor thing, she felt,
for any one to be born a foreigner.
As the DIOR closed, Dorian put the key In
his pocket, and looked round the room. His
eye fell on u large purple satin coverlet
heavily embroidered with gold, a splendid
piece of late seventeenth century Venetian
work that his uncle had found in a convent
near Bologna. Yes, that would serve to
wrap the dreadful thing in. 1t had perhaps
served often AS "a pail for the dead. Now
it was to hide something that had q corlslp-
tion of its own, worse than the corruption
of death itself-something that would breed
horrors and yet would never die. What tho
worm was to his corpse, his sins would be
to the painted image on the canvas. They
SWould mar its beauty, and eat away its
grace. They would defile it, and make it
shameful. And yet the thing would still
live on. 1t would be always alive.
He shuddered, and for a moment re-
GREETED that he had not told Basil the true
reason why he had wished to hide the
picture away. Basil would have helped
him to resist Lord Henry's influence, and
the still more poisonous influences that came
from his W temperament. The love that
he bore him-for it was really love-had
something noble and intellectual in it. It
was not that mere physical admiration Of
beauty that is born of the senses, and that
dies when the senses tire. 1t was such love
as Michael Angelo had known, and Mon
taigne, and Winckelmann, and Shakespeare
himself. Yes, Basil could have saved him.
But it was too late now. TIL past could
always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or
forgetfulness could do that. But the future
was inevitable. There were passions in
him that would find their terrible outlet,
dreams that would make the shadow of their
evil real.
He took up from the couch the great pur.
ple-and-gold texture that covered it, and,
holding it in his hands, passed behind the
screen. Was the face on tho canvas viler
than beforea 1t seemed to him that it was
unchanged; and yet his loathing of it was
intensified. Gold hair, blue eyes, and rose
red lips-they all were there. 1t was sim
ply the expression that had altered.
That was horrible in its cruelty. Com.
pared to what he saw in it of censure or re-
buke, how shallow Basil's reproaches about
Sibyl Vane had been how shallow, and
of what little account! His own soul was
looking out at him from the canvas and call
ing him to Judgment. A look Of pain came
across him, and he flung the rich pail over
the picture. AS he did so, q knock came to
the door. He passed out US his servant
entered.
THE persons are here, monsieur
He felt that the man must be got rid of at
once. He must not be allowed to know
where the picture was being taken to.
There was something sly about him, and he
had thoughtful, treacherous eyes. Sitting
down at the writing-table, he scrubbed q
note to Lord Henry, asking him to send
him round something to read, and reminding
him that they We're to meet ut eight-tifteep
that evening.
wait for an answer" he said. handing it
to him, land show the men in here
In two or three minutes there was an.
other knock, and MIR. Ashton himself, the
celebrated frame-maker of South Audley
Street, came in with a somewhat rough
1 1nnl.ipp y.npner nccicfo,t M, Ael{o, $780,
a ford, red whiskered little man, whose ad.
miration for art was considerably tempered
by the inveterate impecuniosity of most of
the artists who dealt with him. AS a rule, he
never left his shop. He waited for people
to come to him. But he always made an ex-
ception in favor of Dorian Gray. There
Was something about Dorian that charmed
everybody. 1t was a pleasure even to see
him.
What can 1 do for you MIR. Gray?" he
said, rubbing his fat freckled hands. ~
thought would do myself the honor OF
coming round in person. l have just got a
beauty of a frame, sir. Picked it up at q
sale. Old Florcntine. Came from Fonthill,
/ believe. Admirably suited for a religious
picture, Mr.. Gray.'
~ am SO sorry you have given yourself
w 1ioootS VI NoitihlS iOuuu, VII. ASHTON.
will certainly drop in and look at the
frame-though ] don't go in much for re.
ligious art-but to-day l only want a picture
carried to the top Of the house for me. 1t is
rather heavy, SO | thought l would ask YOU
to lend me a couple of your men,"
N trouble al all, Mr.. Gray. / am de-
lighted 10 be Of service to you. Which is
the work of art sir!n
nTfhiS y raplja1 nnriop p,n,,;pr +bo .o,oo,
back. Can you move it covering and all,
just as it is! 1don'twantit to get scratched
going upstairs.n
''There will bc no difficulty, sir" said the
genial f~ramemGker, beginning, with the aid
of his assistant, to unlock the picture from
the long brass chains by which it was sus.
pended. "And, now, where shall we carry
it to, Mr., Gray7"
II will show you the way, Mr.. Ashton, if
you will kindly follow mo. Or perhaps YOU
had better go in front. We will go up by
the front staircase, as 1t Is wider"
He held the door open for them, and they
passed out into the hall and began the as.
cent. The elaborate character of the frame
had made the picture extremely bulky,
and now and then, in spite of the obse-
quious protests of Mr.. Ashton, who had a
true tradesman's dislike of seeing a gentle
man doing anything useful, Dorian put his
hand to it so as to help them.
Something of a load to carry, sir, "gasped
the little man, when they reached the top
lending. AM he wiped his shiny forehead.
"a terrible lond to carry murmured
Dorian, as he unlocked the door that opened
into the room that was to keep for him the
curious secret of his life and hide his soul
from the eyes of men.
He had not entered the place for more
than four years-not, indeed, since he had
used it first as a play-room when he was a
Guild and then as q study when he grew
somewhat older. 1t was a large. well-pro-
portioned room. which had been specially
built by the last Lord Shcrard for the use
of the little nephew whom. being himself
%childlcss, and perhaps for other reasons, he
had always hated and desired to keep at a
distance. 1t did not appear to Dorian to
have changed, There was the huge Italian
cdssone. with its Enthusiastically painted panels
and its furnished gilt monldings, in which
he so often hid himself as a boz. There
was the satinwood bookcase filled with his
dog-eared school books. On the wall he-
hind 1T was hanging the samo ragged Nem-
iSh tn AaStry where fadei kinv md opoop