The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1896-11-14
THE
PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY.
ri c WILDE

porlah rose up IRON inc piano, ana passed
his hand through his hair. .Ycs, life has
oeen exquisite he murmured. but | am
not going to have the same life, Harry.
And you must not say these extlavagant
things to me. You don't know everything
about me. / think that if you did even you
would turn from me. You laugh. Don't
laugh"
why have YOU stopped playing, Doriaul
Go back and play TIE nocturnc over again.
Look at that gre 1t lioney-co!ored moon that
hangs in the dusky air. She is waiting for
you to charm her, and if You play she will
come closer to the earth. You won'ts Let
us go TO the club, then. 1t has been a
charming evening and we must end it
charminely. There is some one at the club
who wants immensely TO know %you-young
Lord Poole, Bourminouth's eldest son. He
has already copied your ncclrtics, and has
begged me to introduce him to you. He is
quite delightful, and rather reminds me of
| you"
81 hope not" said Dorian, with a touch OF
pathos in his voice. But ] am tired to-
night, Harry. l won't go to the CLUB. 1t is
nearly eleven, and want to go to bed carly"
"Do stay. You have never played so well
as tonight. There was something in your
touch that was wonderful. 1t had more ex-
preston than 1 ever heard from it before"
ut is because i am going to be good" he
answered, smiling. ~ am a little changed
already
Don't change, Dorian; ut any rate, don't
change to mo. We must always be friends"
yet you poisoned me with a book once.
/ shall never forget that. Harry, promise
me that you will never lend that book to any
one. 1t does harm."
MY dear boy, You are really beginning
to mOralize. You will soon be going about
warning people against all the sins ofwhich
you have grown tired. You are much too
delightful to do that. Besides, it is no use.
You and | are what we are. and will be
what we will be. Come round tomorrow.
1 am going to bride at eleven, and we might
go together. The park is quito lovely now.
l don't think there have been such lilacs
since the year l met you"
Very well. l will be here at eleven"
said Dorian. Goodnight, n !" AS he
reached the door he hesitate. for a mo-
ment, as ii he had something more to say.
Then he sighed and went out.
1t was o lovely night, SO warm that he
threw his coat over his arm, and did not even
put his silk scarf round his throat. AS he
strolled home, smoking his cigarette, two
young men passed him. He heard
one of them whisper to the other, "That is
Dorian Gray" He remembered how pleased
he used to be when he was pointed out. or
stared at, or talked about. He was tired of
hearing his own name now. Half the charm
of the little village where he had been SO
often lately was that no one knew who he
was. He had told the girl whom he had
made love him that he was poor, and she
had believed him. He had told her once
that he was wicked, and she ha.l laughed at
him, and told him that wicked people were
always very old and very ugly. What a
laugh she had!-iust like a thrush singing.
Aud how pretty she had been in her cotton
dresses and her large hats! She knew
nothing, but she had everything that he had
lost.
When he reached home, he found his SER
want waiting up for him.. He sent him to
bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in
the library, and began to think over some
of the things that Lord Henry had said to
him.
Was it really true that one could never
change! He felt a wild longing for the un-
stained purity of his boyhood-his rose
white b%oyhood, as Lord Henry had once
called it. He knew that he had furnished
himself, filled his mind with corruption,
and given horror to his fancy; that he had
been an evil influence to others, and had ex-
perienced q terrible joy in being so; and
that of the lives that had crossed his own it
had been the fairest and the most full of
promise that he had brought to shame. But
was it all irretrievables Was there no hope
for hint
1t was better not to think Of the past.
Nothing could alter that. 1t was of himself,
and of his own future, that he had to think.
Alan Campbell had shot himself one night
III his laboratory, but had not revealed the
secret that he had been forced to know.
The excitement. such as it was, over Basil
Hallward's disappearance would soon pass
away. 1t was already waning. He was
perfectly safe there. Nor, indeed was it
the death of Basil Hallward that weighed
most upon his mind. 1t was tho living
death of his own soul that troubled him.
Basil had painted the portrait that had
marred his life. He could not forgive him
that. 1t was the portrait that had done
everything. Basil had said things to him
that were unbearable, and that he had yet
borne with patience. The murder had been
simply the madness of a moment. AS for
Alan Campbell, his suicide had been his
own act. He had chosen to do it. 1t was
nothing to him.
A new life! That was what he wanted.
That was what he was waiting for. Surely
he had begun it already. He had spared
one innocent thing. at any rate. He would
never again tempt innocence. He would be
good.
AS he thought Of Hetty Merton, he be-
gan to wonder il the portrait in the locked
room had changed. Surely it was not still
80 horrible as it had been! Perhaps if his
life became pure he would be able to expel
every sign of evil passion from the face.
Perhaps the signs of evil had already gone
away. He would go and look.
He took the lamp from the table and crept
upstairs. As he unlocked the door, a smile
Of joy fitted across his young face and
fingered for a moment about his lips. Yes.
he would be good, and the hideous thing
that he had hidden away would no longer,
be a terror to him, He felt as If the load
had been lifted from him already.
He went in quietly, locking the door be.
hind him ,ss was his custom, and dragged the
purple hanging from the portrait. A cry of
pain and indignation broke from him. He
could see no change, unless that in the eyes
there was a look Of cunning, and in the mouth
AS Sul NOb WI VI IL EuNDOCEIGC. Inc
thing was still loathsome-more loathsome,
If possible, than beforehand the scarlet dew
that spotted tho hand seemed brighter, and
more like blood newly spilled.
Had it been merely vanity that had made
him do his one good deed? Or the desire Of
q new sensation, as Lord Henry had limited,
with his knocking laugh? Or that passion
to act a part that sometimes makes us do
| fhinuQ Enar flnr ,,,o n,,n- n,,r, - ", q . n.
perhaps, all these?
Why was the red stain larger than it had
been! 1t seemed to have crept like a horri.
bic disease over the wrinkled fingers. There
was blood on the painted feet, as though
the thing had dripped-blood even on the
hand that had not held the knife.
Confess! Did it mean that he was to con-
fesst 10 give himself up, and be put to
death! He laughed. He felt that the idea
was monstrous. Besides, who would be-
lieve him, even if he did contest There