Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1896-10-03

ain hands. "Hcre Is the key. I'll have II
on the ring in a moment. But you don't
thin. OF living up there, Master Dorian,
and you so comfortable here.n
mo, Leaf, ! don't. i merely want to see
the place, and perhaps store something In 1t
that is all, Thank you, Leaf. ] hope
your rheumatism is better; and mind you
send me up jam for breakfast"
Mrs. Leaf shook her hoad. "Them for.
eigners doesn't understand Jam, Master
Dorian. They calls it 'compot.' But I'll
bring 1t to you myself some morning, IL you
lets me-"
That will be very kind of you, Leaf he
answered, looking at the key; and, having
made him an elaborate courtesy, the Did
lady left the room, her face wreathed in
smiles. She had a strong objection to the
French valet, II was a poor thing, she felt,
Tor any one to be born a foreigner.
AS the door closed, Dorian put the key in
his pocket, and looked round the room. His
eye fell on a large purple satin c~overlct
heavily embroidered with gold. a splendid
piece of late seventeenth-centur Venetian
work that his uncle had found in a convent
near Bologna. Yes, that would serve TO
wrap the dreadful thing in. II had perhaps
served often as a pail for the dead. Now
IL was to hide something that had u corIslp.
tlon OF its own, worse than the corruption
OF death itself-something that would breed
horrors and yet would never die. What the
worm was TO his corpse, his sins would be
to the painted image OH the canvas. They
would mar its beauty, and eat away its
grace, They would dehle it, and make il
hQmNfn Aud vat Tho Nh,pr ,vn,1l stni
live on. II would he always alive.
He ~shuddcred. and for n moment re-
GREETED that he had not told Basil the true
reason why he had wished 10 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 own temperament. The love that
be bore him-for it was really love-had
something noble and intellectual in it. II
was not that mere physical admiration Of
beauty hat is born of the senses, and that
dies when the senses tire. 1t was such love
as Michael Angelo had known, and Mon
taigno, and Winckelmann, and Shakespeare
himself. Yes, Basil could have saved him.
But il was too late now. The 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-g gold texture that covered it, and,
holding it in his hands, passed behind the
screen. Was the face on the canvas viler
than beforcl 1t seemed TO him that il was
,-A.l n.,I ,-.. II. l.,.l.-- n - -
intensified. Gold hair, blue eyes, and rose
red lips they all were there. 1t was SIM
ply tho expression that had altered.
That was horrible in its cruelty. Com.
pared TO what he saw in it of censuro or re-
buke, how shallow Basil's reproaches about
Sibyl Vane had been inflow shallow, ind
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, a knock came TO
tho door. He passed out as his servant
entered.
1.-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 a
note to Lord Henry, asking him to send
him round something TO read, and reminding
him that they were TO meet ct eight-ffteen
that evening.
"Wait for an enswer," he said. handing il
to him, land show the men in here"
In two or three minutes there was an.
other knock, and Mr.. Ashton himself, the
celebrated frame-maker of South Audley
Street, camc in with a somewhat rough
looking young assistant. MIR. Ashton was
q florid, administered little man, whose ad
miration for art was considerably tempered
by the inveterate impecuniosity Of most OF
the artists who dealt with him. As n 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. II was a pleasure even to see
him.
"What can do for you Mr.. Gray'n he
said, rubbing his fat frecklcd hands. 81
thought ] would do myself the honor Of
coming round in person. ] nave just got 4
beauty Of a frame, sir. Picked it up at 9
sale. Old Florcntine. Came from Fonthill
j believe. Admirably suited for a religion:
picture, Mr.. Gray"
81 am so sorry you have given yourselt
the trouble Of coming round, Mr.. 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 i,
rather heavy, so | thought ] would ask yol
to lend mo a couple of your men"
"No trouble at all, Mr.. Gray. ! am de
| lighted 70 he Of service 10 you. Which L
the work of art sir"
"This," replied Dorian, moving the streer
back. Can you move it covering and all
Just as it isl ! don't want it to get scratches
going upstairs"
''Therc will be no difficulty. sir" said tn,
genial f~ramemaker, beginning, with the aiC
Of his assistant, to unlock the picture from
the long brass chains by which it was sus
pended, And, now, where shall we carr,
it to, Mr.. Gray"
81 will show you the way, MIR. Ashton, i
you will kindly follow mo-. Or perhaps 20,
had better go in front. We will go up by
the front staircase, as it is wider
He held the door open for them, and the,
passed out into the hall and began the as
cent. The elaborate character of the fran,
had made the picture extremely bulky
and now and then, in spite of the obso
quious protests of Mr.. Ashton, who had
true tradesman's dislike Of seeing a gentle
man doing anything useful, Dorian put hi
hand to it so as TO help them.
Something Of a load TO carry, sir, "gaspe,
the little man, when they reached the tol
landing. And he wiped his shiny forehead
"A terrible load TO carry" murmure,
Dorian, as he unlocked the door that openeC
into the room that was to keep for him tn
curious secret of his life and hide his sou
from the eyes of men.
He had not entered the place for NOR
thar four years-not, indeed, since he ha,
used IL first as q play-room when be was
child and then as a study when he grey
somewhat older. II was a large, well-pro
portioned room, which had been special
built by the last Lord Sherard for the us
OF the little nephew whom, being himsel
childless, and perhaps for other reasons, h
had always hated and desired to keep at
distance. II did not appear 10 Dorian I
have changed. There was the huge Italia,
cdssone, with its Enthusiastically painted panel
and its furnished gilt ~mouldings, in whic'
he so often hid himself as a boy. Their
was the satinwood bookcase filed with hi
dog-eared school books. On the wall be
hind II was hanging the same ragged Elem
ish tapestry where a faded king and quee
were PLAYING chess in a garden. while