CHAPTERONE

AnExtraordinarilyBeautifulYoungMan

Theroomwasfilledwiththesmellofroses.Sittingonasofa,smokingacigarette, was Lord Henry Wotton. Through the open door came the distantsoundsoftheLondonstreets.

In the centre of the room stood a portrait of an extraordinarily beautifulyoungman. Sitting a little distance in front of it was the artist himself, BasilHallward.Asthepainterlookedattheportrait,hesmiled.

'It isyourbestwork,Basil, thebestthingyouhaveeverdone,'saidLordHenry, slowly. 'You really must send it next year to the Grosvenor. TheGrosvenorisreallytheonlyplacetoexhibitapaintinglikethat.'

'I don't think I shall send it anywhere,' thepainter answered,movinghishead in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at OxfordUniversity.'No:Iwon'tsenditanywhere.'

LordHenry lookedathiminsurprise through the thinbluesmokeofhiscigarette.'Notsenditanywhere?Mydearman,whynot?Whatoddpeopleyoupaintersare!'

'Iknowyouwilllaughatme,'Basilreplied, 'butIreallycan'texhibitit.Ihaveputtoomuchofmyselfintoit.'

LordHenrystretchedhimselfouton thesofaand laughed. 'Toomuchofyourselfinit!Basil,thismanistrulybeautiful.Hedoesnotlooklikeyou.'

'Youdon'tunderstandme,Harry,'answeredtheartist. 'OfcourseIamnotlikehim.Iwouldbesorrytolooklikehim.Itisbetternottobedifferentfromotherpeople.Thestupidanduglyhavethebestofthisworld.DorianGray-'

'Dorian Gray? Is that his name?' asked Lord Henry, walking across theroomtowardsBasilHallward.

'Yes,thatishisname.Iwasn'tgoingtotellyou.''Butwhynot?''Oh,Ican'texplain.WhenIlikepeopleenormouslyInevertelltheirnames

toanyone.Isupposeyouthinkthat'sveryfoolish?''Notatall,'answeredLordHenry,'notatall,mydearBasil.Youforgetthat

Iammarried,somylifeisfullofsecrets.Ineverknowwheremywifeis,andmywifeneverknowswhat Iamdoing.Whenwemeetwe telleachother lieswiththemostseriousfaces.'

'I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry,' said BasilHallward,walking towards thedoor that led into thegarden. 'Ibelieveyouarereallyaverygoodhusband,butthatyouareashamedofit.Youneversayagoodthing,andyouneverdoawrongthing.'

LordHenry laughedand the twomenwentout into thegarden together.Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthiswatch.'IamafraidIhavetogo,Basil,'hesaidinaquietvoice. 'ButbeforeIgoIwantyoutoexplaintomewhyyouwon'texhibitDorianGrayspicture.Iwanttherealreason.'

'Itoldyoutherealreason.''No, you did not. You said that it was because there was too much of

yourselfinit.Now,thatischildish.''Harry,'saidBasilHallward,lookinghimstraightintheface,'everyportrait

that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter. I will notexhibitthispicturebecauseIamafraidthatIhaveshowninitthesecretofmyownsoul.'

LordHenrylaughed.'Andwhatisthat?'heasked.'Oh, there is really very little to tell,Harry,' answered the painter, 'and I

don'tthinkyouwillunderstand.Perhapsyouwon'tbelieveit.'LordHenrysmiledandpickedaflowerfromthegrass.'IamquitesureI'll

understandit,'hereplied,staringattheflower,'andIcanbelieveanything.''The story is simply this,' said the painter. 'Twomonths ago Iwent to a

partyatLadyBrandon's.AfterIhadbeenin theroomforabout tenminutes,Isuddenly realized that someone was looking at me. I turned around and sawDorianGrayforthefirst time.Whenoureyesmet,Ifelt thebloodleavingmyface.Iknewthatthisboywouldbecomemywholesoul,mywholeartitself.'

'Whatdidyoudo?''Wewerequiteclose,almosttouching.Oureyesmetagain.IaskedLady

Brandontointroducemetohim.''WhatdidLadyBrandonsayaboutMrDorianGray?''Oh,somethinglike"Charmingboy.Idon'tknowwhathedoes-Ithinkhe

doesn't do anything.Oh, yes, he plays the piano - or is it the violin, dearMrGray?"DorianandIbothlaughedandwebecamefriendsatonce.'

'Laughterisnotatallabadbeginningforafriendship,'saidtheyounglord,pickinganotherflower,'anditisthebestendingforone.'

Hallwardshookhishead.'Youdon'tunderstandwhatfriendshipis,Harry.Everyoneisthesametoyou.'

'That'snottrue!'criedLordHenry,pushinghishatback,andlookingatthesummer sky. 'I choose my friends for their beauty and my enemies for theirintelligence.Amancannotbetoocarefulinchoosinghisenemies.Ofcourse,Ihate my relations. And I hate poor people because they are ugly, stupid anddrunk-'

'I don't agreewith aword you have said.And I feel sure that you don'tagreeeither.'

LordHenrytouchedhispointedbrownbeardwithhisfinger,andthetoeofhis boot with his stick. 'How English you are, Basil! An Englishman is onlyinterestedinwhetherheagreeswithanidea,notwhetheritisrightorwrong.ButtellmemoreaboutMrDorianGray.Howoftendoyouseehim?'

'Everyday.Icouldn'tbehappyifIdidn'tseehimeveryday.''Howextraordinary!Ithoughtyouonlycaredaboutyourart.''Heisallmyarttomenow,'saidthepainter.'IknowthattheworkIhave

donesinceImetDorianGrayisthebestworkofmylife.Insomestrangewayhis personality has shownme a new kind of art. He seems like a little boy -thoughheisreallymorethantwenty-andwhenheiswithmeIseetheworlddifferently.'

'Basil,thisisextraordinary!ImustseeDorianGray.'Hallwardgotupfromhisseatandwalkedupanddownthegarden.After

sometimehecameback.'Harry,'hesaid.'DorianGrayisthereasonformyart.Youmightseenothinginhim.Iseeeverythinginhim.'

'Thenwhywon'tyouexhibithisportrait?'askedLordHenry.'An artist should paint beautiful things, but he should put nothing of his

ownlifeintothem.SomedayIwillshowtheworldwhatthatbeautyis.ForthatreasontheworldwillneverseemyportraitofDorianGray.'

'Ithinkyouarewrong,Basil,butIwon'targuewithyou.Tellme,isDorian

Grayveryfondofyou?'Thepainterthoughtforafewmoments.'Helikesme,'heanswered,aftera

pause.'Iknowhelikesme.OfcourseIflatterhimtoomuchandtellhimthingsthatIshouldnot.Heisusuallyverycharmingtome,andwespendthousandsofwonderful hours together. But sometimes he can be horribly thoughtless andseemstoenjoycausingmepain.ThenIfeel,Harry,thatIhavegivenmywholesoultosomeonewhousesitlikeaflowertoputinhiscoatonasummer'sday.'

'Summerdaysarelong,Basil,'saidLordHenryinaquietvoice. 'Perhapsyouwillgetboredbeforehewill.Intelligenceliveslongerthanbeauty.Onedayyouwill look at your friend and youwon't like his colour or something.Andthenyouwillbegintothinkthathehasbehavedbadlytowardsyou-'

'Harry, don't talk like that. As long as I live, Dorian Gray will beeverythingtome.Youcan'tfeelwhatIfeel.Youchangetoooften.'

'My dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it.' Lord Henry took acigarette fromhis pretty silver box and lit it.Thenhe turned toHallward andsaid,'Ihavejustremembered.'

'Rememberedwhat,Harry?''WhereIheardthenameofDorianGray.''Wherewasit?'askedHallwardwithafrown.'Don'tlooksoangry,Basil.Itwasatmyaunt's,LadyAgatha's.Shetoldme

that she had discovered thiswonderful youngman.Hewas going to help herworkwiththepoorpeopleintheEastEndofLondon,andhisnamewasDorianGray.OfcourseIdidn'tknowitwasyourfriend.'

'Iamverygladyoudidn't,Harry.''Why?''Idon'twantyoutomeethim.'Aservantcameintothegarden. 'MrDorianGrayiswaitinginthehouse,

sir,'hesaid.'Youmustintroducemenow,'criedLordHenry,laughing.Thepainterturnedtohisservant.'AskMrGraytowait,Parker.Iwillcome

ininafewmoments.'ThenhelookedatLordHenry.'DorianGrayismydearestfriend,'hesaid.

'He is a beautiful person. Don't spoil him. Don't try and influence him. Yourinfluencewouldbebad.Don'ttakeawayfrommetheonepersonwhomakesmeatrueartist.'

'Whatsillythingsyousay!'saidLordHenry.Smiling,hetookHallwardbythearmandalmostledhimintothehouse.

CHAPTERTWO

JealousofhisOwnPortrait

AstheyenteredtheysawDorianGray.Hewassittingatthepiano,withhisbacktothem,andhewasturningthepagesofsomemusicbySchumann. 'Youmust lendme these,Basil,' he cried. 'Iwant to learn them.They are perfectlycharming.'

'Perhapsifyousitwellformetoday,Dorian.''Oh, I am bored with sitting, and I don't want a portrait of myself,'

answeredtheboy,turningquickly.WhenhesawLordHenry,hisfacewentredforamoment.'Iamsorry,Basil.Ididn'tknowthatyouhadanyonewithyou.'

'ThisisLordHenryWotton,Dorian.He'sanoldfriendofmine.WewenttoOxfordtogether.Ihavejustbeentellinghimwhatagoodsitteryouwere,andnowyouhavespoiledeverything.'

'You have not spoiledmy pleasure inmeeting you,MrGray,' said LordHenry,steppingforwardandofferinghishand.'Myaunthasoftenspokentomeaboutyou.'

'IamafraidLadyAgathaisannoyedwithmeatthemoment.Ipromisedtogo to a club inWhitechapelwith her lastTuesday, and I forgot all about it. Idon'tknowwhatshewillsaytome.'

LordHenry lookedathim.Yes,hewascertainlywonderfullyhandsome,withhiscurvedredlips,honestblueeyesandgoldhair. 'Oh,don'tworryaboutmyaunt.Youareoneofherfavouritepeople.Andyouaretoocharmingtowastetimeworkingtorpoorpeople.'

LordHenrysatdownonthesofaandopenedhiscigarettebox.Thepainterwasbusymixingcoloursandgettinghisbrushesready.Suddenly,helookedatLordHenryandsaid,'Harry,Iwanttofinishthispicturetoday.WouldyouthinkitveryrudeofmeifIaskedyoutogoaway?'

LordHenrysmiled,andlookedatDorianGray. 'ShallIgo,MrGray?'heasked.

'Oh, please don't, Lord Henry. I see that Basil is in one of his difficultmoods,andIhateitwhenheisdifficult.AndIwantyoutotellmewhyIshouldnothelpthepoorpeople.'

'Thatwouldbeveryboring,MrGray.ButIcertainlywillnotrunawayifyoudonotwantmeto.Isthatallright,Basil?Youhaveoftentoldmethatyoulikeyoursitterstohavesomeonetotalkto.'

Hallwardbithislip.'IfthatiswhatDorianwants.Dorianalwaysgetswhathewants.'

Lord Henry picked up his hat and gloves. 'No, I am afraid I must go.Goodbye, Mr Gray. Come and see me one afternoon in Curzon Street. I amnearlyalwaysathomeatfiveo'clock.'

'Basil,'criedDorianGray, 'IfLordHenryWottongoes,Iwillgotoo.Younever open your lips while you are painting, and it is horribly boring juststandinghere.Askhimtostay.'

'Allright,pleasestay,Harry.ForDorianandforme,'saidHallward,staringathispicture. 'It is true that Inever talkwhen I amworking, andnever listeneither.Itmustbeveryboringformysitters.Sitdownagain,Harry.AndDoriandon'tmoveabouttoomuch,orlistentowhatLordHenrysays.Hehasaverybadinfluenceoverallhisfriends.'

DorianGraystoodwhileHallwardfinishedhisportrait.Helikedwhathehad seen of Lord Henry. He was so different to Basil! And he had such abeautifulvoice.Afterafewmomentshesaidtohim,'Haveyoureallyaverybadinfluence,LordHenry?AsbadasBasilsays?'

'Influenceisalwaysbad.''Why?''Becausetoinfluencesomeoneistogivethemyoursoul.Eachpersonmust

havehisownpersonality.''Turnyourheadalittlemoretotheright,Dorian,'saidthepainter.Hewas

notlisteningtotheconversationandonlyknewthattherewasanewlookontheboy'sface.

'Andyet,'continuedLordHenry,inhislowmusicalvoice,'Ibelievethatifonemanlivedhislifefullyandcompletelyhecouldchangetheworld.Hewouldbeaworkofartgreater thananythingwehaveever imagined.But thebravestmanamongusisafraidofhimself.You,MrGray,areveryyoungbutyouhavehadpassionsthathavemadeyouafraid,dreams-'

'Stop!'criedDorianGray,'Idon'tunderstandwhatyouaresaying.Ineedto

think.'For nearly ten minutes he stood there with his lips open and his eyes

strangelybright.ThewordsthatBasil'sfriendhadspokenhadtouchedhissoul.Yes, there had been things in his boyhood that he had not understood. Heunderstoodthemnow.

With his smile, Lord Henry watched him. He knew the exact momentwhentosaynothing.Hewassurprisedatthesuddeneffectofhiswordsontheboy.Howfascinatingtheboywas!

Hallwardcontinuedpaintinganddidnotnoticethattheothersweresilent."Basil, Iam tired,' criedDorianGray, suddenly. 'Imustgoandsit in the

garden.Thereisnoairinhere.''Mydearboy,Iamsorry.WhenIampainting,myworkisallIcanthink

about.Butyouneversatbetter.Idon'tknowwhatHarryhasbeensayingtoyou,butthereisawonderfulbrightlookinyoureyes.Isupposehehasbeenflatteringyou.Youshouldn'tbelieveawordhesays.'

'Hehascertainlynotbeenflatteringme.PerhapsthatiswhyIdon'tbelieveanythinghehastoldme.'

'You know you believe it all,' said LordHenry, looking at himwith hisdreamyeyes.'Iwillgoouttothegardenwithyou.It'shorriblyhotinthisroom.'

'Don'tkeepDoriantoolong,'saidthepainter.'Thisisgoingtobemybestpainting.'

Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found Dorian Gray holding aflowertohisface.Hecameclosetohim,andputhishandonhisshoulder.

DorianGrayfrownedandturnedaway.Helikedthetallyoungmanwhowas standing by him. His dark, romantic face interested him. There wassomething in his low, musical voice that was fascinating. But he felt a littleafraid.Whywasthisstrangerhavingastronginfluenceonhimlikethis?Hehadknown Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship between them had notchanged him. Suddenly someone had come into his life and turned it upsidedown.Someonewhoseemedtohavethekeytothemysteryoflifeitself.

Andyet,whatwastheretobeafraidof?Hewasnotaschoolboyoragirl.Itwassillytobeafraid.

'Letusgoandsitoutofthesun.Idon'twantyoutobeburntbythesun.'

'Whatdoesthatmatter?'criedDorianGray,laughingashesatdownontheseatattheendofthegarden.

'Itshouldmatterverymuchtoyou,MrGray.''Why?''Becauseyouareyoung,andtobeyoungisthebestthingintheworld.''Idon'tfeelthat,LordHenry.''No,youdon'tfeelitnow.Somedaywhenyouareoldanduglyyouwill

feel it terribly.Now,whereveryougo,youcharmtheworld.Will italwaysbeso?...Youhaveawonderfullybeautifulface,MrGray.'

'Idon'tthink-''Don'tfrown.Itistrue.Thegodshavebeengoodtoyou.Butwhatthegods

givetheyquicklytakeaway.Youhaveonlyafewyearsinwhichtoreallylive,perfectlyandfully.Liveyourlifenow,whileyouarestillyoung!'

Suddenlythepainterappearedatthedoorandwavedatthemtocomein.Theyturnedtoeachotherandsmiled.

'Iamwaiting,'hecried.'Pleasecomein.Thelightisperfect.'Theygotupandwalkedtowardsthehousetogether.'Youaregladyouhavemetme,MrGray,'saidLordHenry,lookingathim.'Yes,Iamgladnow.IwonderwhetherIwillalwaysbeglad.''Always!Thatisaterribleword.Womenaresofondofusingit.'Twenty minutes later Hallward stopped painting. He stood back and

looked at the portrait for a fewmoments. Then he bent down and signed hisnameinredpaintonthebottomleft-handcorner.

'Itisfinished,'hecried.Lord Henry came over and examined the picture. It was certainly a

wonderfulworkofart.'Mydearman,'hesaid. 'Itisthebestportraitofourtime.MrGray,come

overandlookatyourself.'Dorianwalkedacross to lookat thepainting.Whenhesaw ithischeeks

went redwithpleasure.He felt thathe recognizedhisownbeauty for the firsttime.ButthenherememberedwhatLordHenryhadsaid.Hisbeautywouldonly

bethereforafewyears.Onedayhewouldbeoldandugly.'Don't you like it?' cried Hallward, not understanding why the boy was

silent.'Ofcoursehelikesit,'saidLordHenry.'Itisoneofthegreatestpaintings

inmodernart.Iwillpayanythingyouaskforit.Imusthaveit.''Itisnotminetosell,Harry.''Whoseisit?''Dorian's,ofcourse,'answeredthepainter.'Heisverylucky.''Howsaditis!'saidDorianGray,whowasstillstaringathisownportrait.

'Iwill growold andhorrible.But this paintingwill always stayyoung. ItwillneverbeolderthanthisdayinJune...ifonlyitweretheotherway!'

'Whatdoyoumean?'askedHallward.'IfIcouldstayyoungandthepicturegrowold!Forthat-forthat-Iwould

give everything!Yes, there is nothing in thewholeworld Iwould not give! Iwouldgivemysoulforthat!'

'Idon'tthinkyouwouldlikethat,Basil,'criedLordHenry,laughing.'Icertainlywouldnot,Harry,'saidHallward.DorianGrayturnedandlookedathim.'Youlikeyourartbetterthanyour

friends.'Thepainterstared insurprise.WhywasDorianspeakinglike that?What

hadhappened?Hisfacewasred,andheseemedquiteangry.'Youwillalwayslikethispainting.Buthowlongwillyoulikeme?UntilI

startgettingold.LordHenryWottonisperfectlyright.WhenIlosemybeauty,Iwillloseeverything.IshallkillmyselfbeforeIgetold.'

Hallward turned white, and caught his hand. 'Dorian! Dorian!' he cried.'Don't talk like that. I haveneverhad a friend likeyou, and Iwill neverhaveanother.Howcanyoubejealousofapainting?Youaremorebeautifulthananyworkofart.'

'Iamjealousofeverythingwhosebeautydoesnotdie.Iamjealousoftheportraityouhavepaintedofme.WhyshoulditkeepwhatImustlose?'Hottearscameintohiseyesashethrewhimselfonthesofa.

'Youdidthis,Harry,'saidthepainter,angrily.LordHenryshookhishead.'ItistherealDorianGray-thatisall.''Harry,Ican'targuewithtwoofmybestfriendsatonce.Betweenyouboth

youhavemademehatethebestpieceofworkIhaveeverdone.Iwilldestroyit.'DorianGraywatchedasHallwardwalkedover to thepainting- tableand

pickedupaknife.Theboyjumpedfromthesofa,toretheknifefromHallward'shandandthrewitacrosstheroom.'Don't,Basil!'hecried.'Don'tmurderit!'

'Iamgladthatyoulikemyworkatlast,Dorian,'saidthepaintercoldly.'Ineverthoughtyouwould.'

'Likeit?Iaminlovewithit,Basil.Itispartofmyself.Ifeelthat.''What silly people you are, both of you!' said Lord Henry. 'Let's forget

aboutthepaintingforonenightandgotothetheatre.''Iwouldliketocometothetheatrewithyou,LordHenry.''Andyouwillcometoo,won'tyouBasil?''Ican't,'saidHallward.'Ihavetoomuchworktodo.''Well,youandIwillgotogether,MrGray.'Thepainterbithislipandwalkedovertothepicture.'IwillstaywiththerealDorian,'hesaidsadly.

CHAPTERTHREE

DorianinLove

Oneafternoon,amonthlater,DorianGraywassittinginthelittlelibraryofLordHenry'shouseinMayfair.LordHenryhadnotyetcomein.Hewasalwayslate.DorianGraywasboredandonceortwicehethoughtofgoingaway.

At last he heard a step outside and the door opened. 'How late you are,Harry!'hesaid.

'I'mafraiditisnotHarry,MrGray.Itisonlyhiswife.'Helookedaroundquicklyandgottohisfeet.'Iamsorry.Ithought-''Iknowyouquitewellbyyourphotographs. I thinkmyhusbandhasgot

seventeenofthem.''Seventeen,LadyHenry?''Well,eighteen,then.AndIsawyouwithhimtheothernightatthetheatre.

ButhereisHarry!'LordHenrysmiledatthemboth.'SosorryIamlate,Dorian.''I am afraid Imust go,' said LadyHarry. 'Goodbye,MrGray.Goodbye,

Harry.Youareeatingout,Isuppose?Iamtoo.PerhapsIwillseeyoulater.''Perhaps,mydear,'saidLordHarry,shuttingthedoorbehindher.Thenhe

litacigaretteandthrewhimselfdownonthesofa.'Nevermarryawomanwithfairhair,Dorian,'hesaid.'Why,Harry?''Becausetheyareromantic.''ButIlikeromanticpeople.''Nevermarryatall,Dorian.''Idon'tthinkIwillmarry,Harry.Iamtoomuchinlove.''Whoareyouinlovewith?'askedLordHenry,afterapause.'Withanactress,'saidDorianGray.'Howordinary.''Youwouldnotsaythatifyousawher,Harry.'

'Whoisshe?''HernameisSibylVane.''I'veneverheardofher.''Noonehas.Peoplewillsomeday,though.Sheisanartist.''Mydearboy,nowoman isanartist.Womenneverhaveanything tosay

buttheysayitcharmingly.Howlonghaveyouknownher?''Aboutthreeweeks.''Andwheredidyoumeether?''Iwill tellyou,Harry,butyoumustnot laugh.Afterall, itwasyouwho

gaveme a passion to know everything about life. For days after I met you Isearchedthestreetsforbeauty.IwalkedaroundtheEastEnduntilIfoundadirtylittletheatre.Iseeyouarelaughing.Itishorribleofyou!'

'Iamnotlaughing,Dorian.Goonwithyourstory.''TheplaywasRomeoandJuliet.AtfirstIwasannoyedatthethoughtof

seeingShakespeareinsuchaterribleplace.Andwhenafatoldgentlemancameout as Romeo I nearlywalked out. But then I saw Juliet! Harry, shewas theloveliestthingIhadeverseeninmylife.'

'Whendidyoumeether?''Iwentbackthenextnightandthenightafterthat.OnthethirdeveningI

waitedforheroutsidethetheatre.''Whatwasshelike?''Sibyl? Oh, she was shy and gentle. She is only seventeen and there is

somethingofachildinher.Shesaidtome,"Youlooklikeaprince.ImustcallyouPrinceCharming".'

'MissSibylknowshowtoflatteryou.''You don't understand her, Harry. She thinks that I am like a person in

Shakespeare.Sheknowsnothingoflife.SibylistheonlythingIcareabout.''Thatisthereason,Isuppose,thatyouneverhavedinnerwithmenow.I

thoughtitmightbesomethingromantic.''MydearHarry,weeattogethereveryday,'saidDorian.'Youalwayscomeverylate.'

'Well,IhavetoseeSibylplay,'hecried.'Canyouhavedinnerwithmetonight,Dorian?'Heshookhishead. 'Tonightshe isOphelia,'heanswered, 'and tomorrow

nightshewillbeJuliet.''WhenissheSibylVane?''Never.''That'sgood.''Howhorribleyouare!Butwhenyouseeheryouwillthinkdifferently.I

wantyouandBasil tocomeandwatchher tomorrownight.Youarecertain torecognizethatsheiswonderful.'

'All right.Tomorrowevening.WillyouseeBasilbefore then?Or shall Iwritetohim?'

'DearBasil!Ihaven'tseenhimforaweek.Itisratherhorribleofmeashesentmemy portrait a few days ago. I love looking at it. Perhaps you shouldwrite tohim. Idon'twant toseehimalone.Hesays things thatannoyme.Hegivesmegoodadvice.'

LordHenrysmiled.'Peopleareveryfondofgivingawayadvicetheyneedthemselves.'

'Oh,Basilisagoodman,butIdon'tthinkhereallyunderstandsaboutartandbeauty.SinceIhaveknownyou,Harry,Ihavediscoveredthat.'

'Basil,mydearboy,putseverythingthatischarminginhimintohiswork.''I must go now, Harry. My Juliet is waiting for me. Don't forget about

tomorrow.Goodbye.'AsDorianlefttheroom,LordHenrybegantothinkaboutwhathehadjust

learned.CertainlyfewpeoplehadeverinterestedhimsomuchasDorianGray.Yet themadworshipof this actress didnotmakehimannoyedor jealous.Hewaspleasedbyit.Itmadetheboymoreinterestingtostudy.

Later that night, when he arrived home from dinner, LordHenry saw atelegramonthetablenearthedoor.HeopeneditandreadthatDorianGraywasgoingtomarrySibylVane.

CHAPTERFOUR

TheWorshipofSibylVane

'Isupposeyouhaveheardthenews,Basil?'saidLordHenrythefollowingevening.Theywereinthedining-roomoftheBristolHotel.

'No,Harry,'answeredtheartist,givinghishatandcoattothewaiter.'Whatisit?'

'DorianGrayisgoingtobemarried,'saidLordHenry,watchinghimashespoke.

Hallwardfrowned.'Doriangoingtobemarried!'hecried.'Impossible!''Itisperfectlytrue.''Towhom?''Tosomelittleactress.''Butitwouldbeabsurdforhimtomarrysomeonelikethat.''Ifyouwanttomakehimmarrythisgirltellhimthat,Basil.Heissureto

do it, then.Wheneveramandoesacompletelystupid thing, it isalways foragoodreason.'

'Ihopethisgirlisgood,Harry.''Oh, she is better than good - she is beautiful,' saidLordHenry. 'Dorian

says that she is beautiful and he is not often wrong about these things. Yourportraithashelpedhimunderstandbeautyinothers.Wearetoseehertonight,ifthatboydoesn'tforget.'

'But how can Dorian marry an actress, Harry? It is absurd,' cried thepainter,walkingupanddowntheroom,bitinghislip.

'DorianGrayfallsinlovewithabeautifulactresswhoplaysJuliet.Heasksher to marry him. Why not? I hope that Dorian Gray marries this girl andworships her for six months. Then he can suddenly become fascinated byanotherwoman.'

'You don't mean a word of that, Harry! I know you don't really wantDorianGray'slifetobespoiled.Youaremuchbetterthanyoupretendtobe.'

LordHenry laughed. 'Thereasonweall like to thinksowellofothers is

becauseweareafraidforourselves.ButhereisDorianhimself.HewilltellyoumorethanIcan.'

'MydearHarry,mydearBasil,youmustbothcongratulateme!' said theboy,throwingoffhiscoatandshakingeachofhisfriends'hands. 'Ihaveneverbeensohappy.Ofcourseitissudden-allthebestthingsare.AndyetitseemstometobetheonethingIhavebeenlookingforallmylife.'

'Ihopeyouwillalwaysbeveryhappy,Dorian,'saidHallward,'butwhydidyounottellme?YoutoldHarry.'

'Therereallyisnotmuchtotell,'criedDorian.'LastnightIwenttoseeheragain. After, when we were sitting together, there came into her eyes awonderfullook.ItwassomethingIhadneverseentherebefore.Wekissedeachother.Ican'tdescribetoyouwhatIfeltatthatmoment.'

'Haveyouseenhertoday?'askedLordHenry.DorianGrayshookhishead.'IhaveleftherinShakespeare'sforest.Iwill

findherinhisgarden.''Atwhatexactpointdidyouusetheword"marry",Dorian?Andhowdid

sheanswer?Perhapsyouforgotallaboutit.''MydearHarry,itwasnotabusinessmeeting.ItoldherIlovedher.The

wholeworldisnothingtomecomparedtoher.''ButmydearDorian-'Hallward put his hand on Lord Henry's arm. 'Don't Harry. You have

annoyedDorian.Heisnotlikeothermen.Hewouldneverharmanyone.'LordHenrylookedacrossthetable.'Dorianisneverannoyedwithme,'he

answered.Dorian Gray laughed. 'When I am with Sibyl Vane I don't believe in

anythingyouhavetaughtme.Iforgetallyourfascinating,terribleideas.''Andthoseare...?'askedLordHenry,helpinghimselftosomesalad.'Oh,yourideasaboutlife,yourideasaboutlove,yourideasaboutpleasure.

Allyourideas,Harry.''Pleasure is theonly thingworthhavingideasabout,'heanswered, inhis

slow,musicalvoice.'Whenwearehappywearealwaysgood,butwhenwearegoodwearenotalwayshappy.'

'Iknowwhatpleasureis,'criedDorianGray.'Itistoworshipsomeone.''Thatiscertainlybetterthanwhensomeoneworshipsyou.''Harry,youare terrible! Idon'tknowwhyI likeyousomuch.Letusgo

downtothetheatre.WhenyouseeSibylyouwillchangeyourideas.'Theygotupandputontheircoats.Thepainterwassilentandthoughtful.

Hefeltverysad.DorianGraywouldneveragainbetohimallthathehadbeeninthepast.Lifehadcomebetweenthem.

Whenhe arrivedat the theatre it seemed toHallward thathehadgrownyearsolder.

CHAPTERFOUR

DorianLeavesSibyl

The theatre was crowded that night. It was terribly hot and there wereyoungpeople shouting to eachother fromacross seats.Womenwere laughingloudly and their voices sounded horrible. People were eating oranges anddrinkingfrombottles.

'Whataplacetofindtheperfectgirlin!'saidLordHenry.'Yes!'answeredDorianGray.'ItwashereIfoundher.Whenyouseeheras

Julietyouwillforgeteverything.Theseuglypeoplebecomequitedifferentwhensheappears.'

'Iunderstandwhatyoumean,Dorian,'saidthepainter,'andIbelieveinthisgirl.Anyoneyoulovemustbewonderful.'

'Thanks,Basil,'answeredDorianGray.'Iknewthatyouwouldunderstandme.InafewminutesyouwillseethegirlwhoIamgoingtogivemylifeto.ThegirlwhoIhavegiveneverythingthatisgoodinme.'

Then Sibyl appeared. The crowd shouted and called her name.Yes, shewascertainlylovelyto lookat,LordHenrythought.BasilHallwardjumpedtohisfeetexcitedly.DorianGraysatstaringatherlikehewasinadream.

'Charming!Charming!'criedLordHenry.Aquarterofanhourlater,LordHenrywhisperedtoHallward. 'She'sone

oftheloveliestgirlsIhaveeverseen.Butsheisaterribleactress.'Dorian Gray's face turned white as he watched her speak. She was so

different tonight! Now shewas not Juliet but a very bad actress who did notunderstandShakespeare'swords.

Even thecrowdbecameboredandbegan to talk loudly.Theonlypersonwhodidnotseemtonoticewastheactressherself.

LordHenry got up fromhis chair and put on his coat. 'She is beautiful,Dorian,'hesaid,'butshecan'tact.Let'sgo.'

'Iamgoingtostayuntiltheend,'answeredtheboyinacoldvoice. 'IamawfullysorrythatIhavemadeyouwasteanevening,Harry.Iapologizetoyouboth.'

'MydearDorian,perhapsMissVaneis ill,'saidHallward. 'Wewillcomesomeothernight.'

'Come to the clubwith Basil andmyself.Wewill smoke cigarettes anddrinktothebeautyofSibylVane.Sheisbeautiful.Whatmoredoyouwant?'

'Goaway,Harry,'criedtheboy.'Iwanttobealone.Can'tyouseemyheartis breaking?'Hot tears came to his eyes as LordHenry andHallward left thetheatre.

When it was over, DorianGray rushed to see Sibyl Vane. The girl wasstandingtherealone,withalookofextraordinaryhappinessonherface.

'HowbadlyIactedtonight,Dorian!'shecried.'Horribly!' he answered, staringather. 'Itwas terrible.Areyou ill?Why

didyoumakemesufferlikethat?'Thegirlsmiled.'Dorian,don'tyonunderstand?''Understandwhat?'heasked,angrily.'WhyIwassobadtonight.WhyIwillalwaysbebad.WhyIwillneveract

wellagain.''You are ill, I suppose.When you are ill, you shouldn't act.My friends

werebored.Iwasbored.''Dorian, Dorian,' she cried, 'before I knew you, acting was the one

importantthinginmylife.ItwasonlyinthetheatrethatIlived.Ithoughtthatitwasalltrue.Tonight,forthefirsttimeinmylifeIsawthatIwasplayingatlove.Ourloveforeachotheristheonlytruelove.Takemeawaywithyou,Dorian!Idon'twanttobeanactressanymore.'

Hethrewhimselfdownonthesofa,andturnedawayhisface. 'Youhavekilledmy love,'hesaidquietly.Thenhe jumpedupandwent to thedoor. 'MyGod!HowmadIwastoloveyou!WhatafoolIhavebeen!Youarenothingtomenow.Iwillneverseeyouagain.Iwillneverthinkofyou.Iwillneverspeaktoyouagain.'

The girl went white. 'You are not serious, Dorian? You are acting?' shewhispered,puttingherhandonhisarm.

Hepushedherback.'Don'ttouchme!'hecried.Thenheturnedandlefttheroom.

Afterwalking the streets ofLondon all night, he arrivedhome just aftersunrise.Ashepassedthroughthelibrary,hesawtheportraitthatBasilHallwardhadpaintedofhim.Hestaredatitinsurpriseandwalkedonintohisbedroom.Hetookhiscoatoffandstoodnexttohisbed.Afewmomentslaterhereturnedtothepictureandlookedatitclosely.Inthepoorlightthefaceseemedtohavechangedalittle.Nowthemouthlookedcruel.Itwascertainlystrange.

Hewalkedtothewindowandopenedthecurtains.Thelightchangedtheroom,but the face stayed the same. In fact, the sunlightmade themouth lookevencrueller.

Going back to his bedroom, he found a small mirror that had been apresentfromLordHenry.Helookedathisrealfaceandsawnosignofcruelty.Whatdiditmean?

He threw himself into a chair, and began to think. Suddenly herememberedwhathehadsaidinBasilHallward'shousethedaythepicturehadbeen finished.Yes,he remembered itperfectly.Hehadasked that thepaintinggrow old so that he himself could remain young. But such things wereimpossible. It was terrible even to think about them. And, yet, there was thepictureinfrontofhim.Therewasthecrueltyinthemouth.

Cruelty!Had he been cruel?No,why think about SibylVane? Shewasnothingtohimnow.

Butthepicture?Whatwashetosayofthat?Itheldthesecretofhislife,andtoldhisstory.Ithadtaughthimtolovehisownbeauty.

Woulditteachhimtohatehisownsoul?Wouldheeverlookatitagain?Hewouldsavehimself!HewouldnotseeLordHenryagain.Hewouldgo

backtoSibylVane,marryherandtrytoloveheragain.Shehadsufferedmorethanhehad.Poor child!Hehadbeen selfish and cruel to her.Theywouldbehappytogether.Hislifewithherwouldbebeautifulandpure.

Hegotupfromhischair,andcoveredtheportrait.'Howhorrible!'hesaidtohimself,andhewalkedacrosstothewindowandopenedit.Whenhesteppedouton to thegrasshe tookadeepbreath.He thoughtonlyofSibyl.Thebirdsthatweresinginginthegardenseemedtobetellingtheflowersabouther.

CHAPTERSIX

LoveBecomesTragedy

Itwasnearlyoneo'clockthenextafternoonwhenhewokeup.Hisservantbroughthimacupofteaandsomeletters.OneofthemwasfromLordHenry,andhadbeenbroughtbyhandthatmorning.Heputittooneside.

Hewentintothelibraryforbreakfastfeelingperfectlyhappy.Thenhesawtheopenwindowandthecoveredportrait.Wasitalltrue?Orhaditjustbeenadream?Butherememberedthatcruelmouthsoclearly.

DorianGraysenthisservantawayandlockedallthedoors.Thenhepulledthecoveroffthepainting,andsawhimselffacetoface.Itwastrue.Theportraithadchanged.

Forhourshedidnotknowwhattodoorthink.Finally,hewentovertothetable and wrote a passionate letter to the girl he had loved. He asked her toforgivehimfortheterriblethingshehadsaidtoher.

Suddenlyheheardaknockonthedoor,andheheardLordHenry'svoiceoutside.'Mydearboy,Imustseeyou.Letmeinatonce.'

Hemadenoanswer,butremainedquitestill.Theknockingcontinuedandgrewlouder.Yes,itwasbettertoletLordHenryin.Hewouldexplaintohimthenewlifehewasgoingtolead.Hejumpedup,coveredthepictureandopenedthedoor.

'Iamsorryabout itall,Dorian,'saidLordHenry,asheentered. 'Butyoumustnotthinktoomuchaboutit.'

'DoyoumeanaboutSibylVine?'askedtheboy.'Yes,ofcourse,'answeredLordHenry,sittingdownandslowlypullingoff

hisyellowgloves. 'It is terrible,butyouarenot toblame.Tellme,didyougobehindandseeherafteritwasover?'

'Yes.''Ifeltsurethatyouhad.Didyouhaveanargument?''Iwascruel,Harry-terriblycruel.Butitisallrightnow.Iamnotsorryfor

anythingthathashappened.Ithastaughtmetoknowmyselfbetter.''Oh,Dorian,Iamsogladthatyouseeitthatway.'

'Iwanttobegood,Harry.Idon'twantmysoultobeugly.IamgoingtomarrySibylVine.'

'MarrySibylVine!' criedLordHenry, standingup, and staring at him insurprise.'But,mydearDorian-'

'Yes,Harry, Iknowwhatyouaregoing tosay.Somethinghorribleaboutgettingmarried.Don'tsayit!Sibylwillbemywife!'

'Your wife! Dorian!... Didn't you get my letter? I wrote to you thismorning.'

'Yourletter?Oh,yes,Iremember.Ihavenotreadityet,Harry.''Youknownothingyetthen?''Whatdoyoumean?'LordHenrywalked across the room and sat down next toDorianGray.

Takingbothhishandsinhisown,heheldthem.'Dorian,'hesaid,'myletterwastotellyouthatSibylVaneisdead.'

Acryofpaincamefromtheboy's lipsandhe jumpedtohisfeet. 'Dead!Sibyldead!Itisnottrue!Itisahorriblelie!'

'It is true,Dorian,' saidLordHenry. 'It is inall themorningnewspapers.Thepolicewillbeaskingquestions,andyoumustkeepyournameoutofanyscandal.Thingslike thatmakeamanfashionable inParis.But inLondontheyare a disaster for any gentleman. I suppose they don't knowyour name at thetheatre? If they don't, it is all right. Did anyone see you going round to herroom?'

Dorian did not answer for a fewmoments. Finally he said in a strangevoice, 'Harry, did you say that the police are asking questions?What did youmeanbythat?DidSibyl-?Oh,Harrythisisterrible!'

'Iamsurethatitwasnotanaccident,thoughitmustbedescribedthatwayofficially.Sheswallowedsomethinghorribletheyuseattheatres.'

'Harry,Harry,itisterrible!'criedtheboy.'Yes,itisverysad,ofcourse,butitisnothingtodowithyou.Comewith

metodinner,andafterwewillgotothetheatre.''SoIhavemurderedSibylVane,'saidDorianGray,halftohimself.'Yetthe

rosesarenotlesslovely.Thebirdsstillsinghappilyinmygarden.AndtonightI

willhavedinnerwithyouandgotothetheatre.Howextraordinarylife is!Myfirstpassionateloveletterwastoadeadgirl.YetwhyisitthatIcannotfeelthistragedyasmuchasIwantto?Idon'tthinkIamheartless.Doyou?'

'Youhavedonetoomanyfoolishthingsinthelastfortnighttobeheartless,Dorian,'answeredLordHenry,withhissweet,sadsmile.

Theboyfrowned. 'Idon't like thatexplanation,Harry,'hesaid, 'but Iamgladyoudon'tthinkIamheartless.'

'Awomanhaskilledherselffortheloveofyou,'saidLordHenry.'Thatisverybeautiful.'

They were silent. The evening darkened in the room. After some timeDorianGraylookedup.'Howwellyouknowme!Butwewillnottalkagainofwhathashappened.Ithasbeensomethingwonderful.Thatisall.Now,Ihavetodress, Harry. I feel too tired to eat anything, but I will join you later at thetheatre.'

AsLordHenryclosed thedoorbehindhimDorian rushed to theportraitand tore off the cover. No, therewas no further change in the picture. It hadreceivedthenewsofSibylVane'sdeathbeforehehadknownofithimself.Tearscametohiseyesasherememberedher.Hebrushedthemawayandlookedagainatthepicture.

Hefeltthetimehadcometochoose.Orhadhealreadychosen?Yes,lifehaddecidedthatforhim.Theportraitwasgoingtocarryhisshame:thatwasall.

Anhourlaterhewasatthetheatre,andLordHenrywassittingbesidehim.

CHAPTERSEVEN

'WhatIsPastIsPast?'

Ashewaseatingbreakfast thenextmorning,BasilHallwardwasshownintotheroom.

I am soglad I have foundyou,Dorian,' he said. 'I called last night, andtheytoldmethatyouwereatthetheatre.OfcourseIknewthatwasimpossible.Ihad a terrible evening worrying whether one tragedy would be followed byanother.Ican'ttellyouhowheart-brokenIamaboutthewholething.Didyougoandseethegirl'smother?Whatdidshesayaboutitall?'

'MydearBasil,Idon'tknow,'saidDorianGray.Helookedverybored. 'Iwasatthetheatre.'

'Youwenttothetheatre?'saidHallward,speakingveryslowly. 'YouwenttothetheatrewhereSibylVanewaslyingdead?'

'Stop,Basil!Iwon'thearit!'criedDorian, jumpingtohisfeet. 'Youmustnotspeakofsuchthings.Whatisdoneisdone.Whatispastispast.'

'You call yesterday the past? Dorian, this is horrible! Something haschangedyoucompletely.Youlookexactlythesameasthewonderfulboyinmypicture,butnowthereisnoheartinyou.ItisallHarry'sinfluence.Iseethat.'

The boy went to the window and looked out at the garden for a fewmoments.

'Harryhas taughtmemany things,Basil.' he said at last. 'Youhaveonlytaughtmetolovemyownbeauty.'

'Iamtrulysorryforthat,Dorian.'Idon'tknowwhatyoumean,Basil,'hesaid,turninground. 'Idon'tknow

whatyouwant.Whatdoyouwant?''IwanttheDorianGrayIusedtopaint,'saidtheartistsadly.'Basil,' said the boy, going over to him and putting his hand on his

shoulder, 'youhavecometoolate.YesterdaywhenIheardthatSibylVanehadkilledherself-'

'Killedherself!MyGod!Istherenodoubtaboutthat?'criedHallward.'MydearBasil!Ofcourseshekilledherself.'

Theoldermanputhisfaceinhishands. 'Howterrible,'hesaidinaquietvoice.

'No,' saidDorianGray, 'there isnothing terrible about it. It isoneof thegreatromantictragediesofourtime.Iknowyouaresurprisedatmetalkingtoyoulikethis.YouhavenotrealizedhowIhavechanged.Iwasaboywhenyouknewme.Iamamannow.Ihavenewpassions,newthoughts,newideas-'

'ButDorian-''Iamdifferent,butyoumustnotlikemeless.OfcourseIamveryfondof

Harry.ButIknowthatyouarebetterthanheis.Youarenotstronger-youaretooafraidof life -butyouarebetter.Andhowhappyweused tobe together!Don'tleaveme,Basil,anddon'targuewithme.IamwhatIam.'

Thepainterfeltstrangelysad.DorianGraywasextraordinarilyimportanttohim.Theboyhadchangedhisart.PerhapshiscrueltalkaboutSibylVanewasjustamoodthatwouldpassaway.Therewassomuchinhimthatwasgood.

'Well,Dorian,'hesaidwithasadsmile,'Iwon'tspeaktoyouagainaboutthishorriblething.Ionlyhopethatyournameiskeptoutofanyscandal.Havethepoliceaskedtoseeyou?'

Dorianshookhishead.'Theydon'tevenknowmyname,'heanswered.'Shedidn'tknowyourname?''Onlymyfirstname,andIamsurethatshedidnottell it toanyone.She

toldherfamilythatIwasPrinceCharming.Itwasprettyofher.YoumustdomeadrawingofSibyl,Basil.Iwouldliketohavesomethingmoreofherthanthememoryofafewkisses.'

'Iwill try anddo something,Dorian.But youmust come and sit formeagain.Ican'tworksowellwithoutyou.'

'Icanneversitforyouagain,Basil.Itisimpossible!'hecried.'Mydearboy,what is this foolishness!'Hallwardcried. 'Didyounot like

whatIdidforyou?Whereisit?Whyhaveyoucoveredit?Letmelookatit.ItisthebestthingIhaveeverdone.Itisverybadofyourservanttohidemyworklikethat.IfelttheroomlookeddifferentasIcamein.'

'Itwasnotmyservantwhocoveredit,Basil.Ididitmyself.Thelightwastoostrongontheportrait.'

'Toostrong!No,thelightisperfectinhere.Letmeseeit.'AndHallward

walkedtowardsthecorneroftheroom.A terrible cry came fromDorianGray's lips, and he rushed between the

painterandthecoveredportrait.'Basil,youmustnotlookatit!Idon'twantyouto.'

'Notlookatmyownwork!Areyouserious?Whyshouldn'tI lookatit?'criedHallward,laughing.

'Ifyoutryandlookatit,Basil,IpromiseIwillneverspeaktoyouagain.Iamveryserious.'

Hallward lookedatDorianGray in surprise.Hehadnever seenhim likethisbefore.Theboy'sfacewaswhiteandangry.

'Dorian!''Don'tspeak!''Butwhatisthematter?OfcourseIwon'tlookatitifyoudon'twantme

to,'hesaidcoldly,walkingovertothewindow.'ButitseemsratherabsurdthatIcannotseemyownworkwhenIamgoingtoexhibititinParisintheautumn.'

'Toexhibit it?Youwant to exhibit it?' criedDorianGray.A terrible fearwas building inside him.Was theworld going to see his secret?Were peoplegoingtostareatthemysteryofhislife?Thatwasimpossible.

'Yes,GeorgePetitisgoingtoexhibitallmybestpicturesinOctober.Don'tworry,itisonlyforonemonth.'

DorianGraypassedhishandacrosshis face. It felt hot andwet.He feltthat hewas about to face horrible danger. 'You toldme amonth ago that youwould never exhibit it,' he cried. 'Why have you changed your mind?' Hestopped suddenly and a cruel look came into his eyes. He had rememberedsomethingLordHenry had said to him, 'AskBasilwhyhewon't exhibit yourpicture.He toldmeonceand it isaverystrangestory.'Yes,perhapsBasil toohadhissecret.Hewouldaskhimandtry.

'Basil,' he said, comingover quite close, and looking him straight in theface. 'Weallhavesecrets.Whatwasyourreasonfornotwantingtoexhibitmypicture?'

'Dorian, if I toldyou,youmight likeme less thanyoudonow.Andyouwouldcertainly laughatme. Ifyoudon'twantmeever to lookatyourpictureagain,Iwon't.Ihavealwaysyoutolookat.Yourfriendshipismoreimportantto

methanexhibitingapainting.''No, Basil, youmust tellme,' saidDorianGray.His feeling of fear had

passedaway.NowhejustwantedtofindoutBasilHallward'smystery.'Dorian,'saidthepainter,whodidnotlookhappy.'Haveyouevernoticed

somethinginthepicture,somethingstrange?''Basil!'criedtheboy,staringathimwithwildeyes.'I seeyoudid.Dorian, fromthemoment Imetyou,yourpersonalityhad

themost extraordinary influence overme. Iworshipped you. Iwas jealous ofeveryone you spoke to. Iwanted to have you all tomyself. Iwas only happywhenIwaswithyou.Whenyouwereawayfrommeyouwerestillthereinmyart.'

'Basil-''No,don'tspeak.Imust tellyounowwhatIdidnot tellyouthen.ThatI

decided topaintawonderfulportraitofyou. Iputallmyfeelingsforyou intothatpicture.Ifelt,Dorian,thatIhadtoldtoomuch.Ihadputtoomuchofmyselfinto it.So Idecidednever toexhibit theportrait. I toldHarryandhe laughed.When thepicturewas finished,and I satalonewith it, I felt that Iwas right...Later, I thought that perhaps I was being foolish and when this Paris offercame...butIseenowthatthepicturecannotbeshown.'

DorianGraybreatheddeeply.Thecolour cameback tohis cheeksandasmilecrossedhislips.Thedangerwasoverandhewassafeforawhile.WhatasadstoryBasilhadtold.Wouldheeverbesoinfluencedbythepersonalityofafriend?LordHenryhadthecharmofbeingverydangerous.Butthatwasall.

'Itisextraordinarytome,Dorian,'saidHallward,'thatyousawthisintheportrait.'

T saw something in it,' he answered, 'something that seemed tomeverystrange.'

'Well,youdon'tmindmelookingatthethingnow?'Dorianshookhishead. 'Youmustnotaskmethat,Basil.Icannotletyou

standinfrontofthatpicture.''Youwilloneday,won'tyou?''Never.'

'Well,perhapsyouareright.Andnowgoodbye,Dorian.Youhavebeentheonepersoninmylifewhohasreallyinfluencedmyart.Butyoudon'tknowwhatitcostmetotellyouallthatIhavetoldyou.'

'My dear Basil,' said Dorian, 'what have you told me? Only that youworshippedmetoomuch.Thatisnotevenflattery.'

'It was not meant as flattery. And now that I have told you, somethingseemstohavegoneoutofme.Perhapsyoushouldneverputwhatyouworshipintowords.'

'Youmustn'ttalkaboutworship.Itisfoolish.YouandIarefriends,Basil,andwewillalwaysbefriends.'

'YouhavegotHarry.'saidthepainter,sadly.'Oh, Harry!' laughed the young man. 'Harry spends his life saying and

doing extraordinary things.He lives the sort of life Iwant to live.But I don'tthinkIwouldgotoHarryifIwasintrouble.Iwouldprefertogotoyou,Basil.'

'Youwillsitformeagain?''Impossible!Thereissomethingterribleaboutaportrait.Ithasalifeofits

own.Iwillcomeandhaveteawithyouinstead.''Well,goodbye then. Iamsorry thatyouwon't letme lookat thepicture

again.ButIunderstandwhatyoufeelaboutit.'Ashelefttheroom,DorianGraysmiledtohimself.PoorBasil!Howlittle

heknewofthetruereason.Andnowheunderstoodmorethepainter'swildandjealousfeelings,andhefeltsorry.Therewassomethingtragicinafriendshipsocorruptedbypassion.

Herangthebelltocallhisservant.Hehadtohidetheportraitimmediately.Ithadbeenmadofhimtoleaveitinaplacewhereitcouldbediscoveredbyhisfriends.

CHAPTEREIGHT

ThePortraitIsHidden

Whentheservantentered,DorianGrayaskedhimtosendMrsLeaftohiminthelibrary.MrsLeafhadbeenwithhisfamilyformanyyears.Heaskedherforthekeytotheoldschoolroom.

'Theoldschoolroom,MrDorian?'shecried. 'Butitisfullofdust!Imustcleanitfirst.'

'Idon'twantitcleaned,MrsLeaf.Ionlywantthekey.''Well,sir,you'llbecoveredwithdustifyougointoit.Ithasn'tbeenopen

fornearlyfiveyears,notsinceyourgrandfatherdied.'Hefrownedatthisreminderofhisgrandfather.Hehadbadmemoriesofall

hisfamily.'Thatdoesnotmatter,'heanswered.'Ijustwanttoseetheplace-thatisall.Givemethekey.'

'Here is thekey, sir,' said theold lady. 'Butyouarenotgoing to liveupthere,areyou,sir?'

'No,no,'hecried.'Thankyou,MrsLeaf.Youcango.'Anhourlatertwomenarrivedtomovetheportrait.'It'sveryheavy,sir,'saidoneofthemen,astheyclimbedthestairs.'Iamafraiditisratherheavy,'saidDorian,asheopenedthedooroftheold

schoolroomwherehewasgoingtohidethesecretofhiscorruptedsoul.Hehadnotenteredtheroomsincehewasachild.Itwasalargeroombuilt

by his grandfather to keep him at a distance. Every moment of his lonelychildhoodcamebacktohimashelookedround.

Itwasa roomfullof terriblememories,but itwas safe.Hehad thekey,andnootherpersoncouldenter it.Theface in theportraitcouldgrowoldandugly.Whatdiditmatter?Noonecouldseeit.Hehimselfwouldnotseeit.Hedidnothavetowatchtheterriblecorruptionofhissoul.Hewouldstayyoung-thatwasenough.

When themenhadgone,Dorian locked thedoor, andput thekey inhispocket.Hefeltsafenow.Noonewouldeverlookatthathorriblething.Onlyhewouldeverseehisshame.

HewentbacktothelibraryandfoundanotefromLordHenry.InitwasareportfromthenewspaperaboutSibylVane.Herdeathwasofficiallydescribedasanaccident.

He frowned,and tore thepaper in two.Thenhewalkedacross the roomandthrewthepiecesaway.Howuglyitallwas!Andhowhorriblyrealuglinessmadethings!

Perhaps the servant had read the report, and had begun to suspectsomething.And,yet,whatdiditmatter?WhathadDorianGraytodowithSibylVane'sdeath?Therewasnothingtobeafraidof.DorianGrayhadnotkilledher.

CHAPTERNINE

'IWillShowYoumySoul'

Manyyearspassed.YetthewonderfulbeautythathadsofascinatedBasilHallward,stayedwithDorianGray.Eventhosewhohadheardterriblerumoursagainsthim,couldnotbelievethemwhentheymethim.Healwayshadthelookofsomeonewhohadkepthimselfpure.

ManypeoplesuspectedthattherewassomethingverywrongwithDorian'slife,butonlyheknewabouttheportrait.Somenightshewouldsecretlyenterthelockedroom.Holdingamirrorinhishand,hewouldstandinfrontofthepictureBasilHallwardhadpainted.Hewouldlookfirstat thehorrible,oldfaceinthepicture,andthenatthehandsomeyoungfacethatlaughedbackathimfromthemirror.Hefellmoreandmoreinlovewithhisownbeauty.Andmoreandmoreinterestedinthecorruptionofhisownsoul.

Thensomethinghappenedthatchangedeverything.ItwasontheninthofNovember,thedaybeforehisthirty-eighthbirthday.

HewaswalkinghomefromLordHenry'sandthenightwascoldandfoggy.AtthecornerofGrosvenorSquareandSouthAudleyStreet,amanpassedhiminthefog.Hewaswalkingveryfast,andhadthecollarofhiscoatturnedup.Hehadabaginhishand.Dorianrecognizedhim.ItwasBasilHallward.AstrangefearmadeDorianwalkoffquicklyinthedirectionofhisownhouse.

ButHallwardhadseenhim.Dorianheardhimhurryingafterhim.Inafewmomentshishandwasonhisarm.

'Dorian!Whatanextraordinarypieceofluck!Ihavebeenwaitingforyouinyourlibraryeversincenineo'clock.IamgoingtoParisonthemidnighttrain,andIwantedtoseeyoubeforeIleft.Ithoughtitwasyou,oratleastyourcoat,asIpassedyou.ButIwasn'tsure.Didn'tyourecognizeme?'

'In this fog, my dear Basil? I can't even recognize Grosvenor Square. Ibelievemyhouseissomewhereabouthere,butIdon'tfeelatallcertainaboutit.Iamsorryyouaregoingaway,asIhavenotseenyouforsuchalongtime.ButIsupposeyouwillbebacksoon?'

'No,IamgoingtobeoutofEnglandforsixmonths.Hereweareatyourdoor.Letmecomeinforamoment.Ihavesomethingtosaytoyou.'

'Thatwouldbelovely.Butwon'tyoumissyourtrain?'saidDorianGray,ashewentupthestepsandopenedthedoorwithhiskey.

'I have plenty of time,' he answered. 'The train doesn't go until twelve-fifteen,anditisonlyjusteleven.AllIhavewithmeisthisbag,andIcaneasilygettoVictoriaStationintwentyminutes.'

Dorian looked at him and smiled. 'Come in or the fogwill get intomyhouse.'

HallwardfollowedDorianintothelibrary.Therewasabrightwoodfireononesideoftheroomandtwolampsontheother.

'Wouldyoulikeadrink?'askedDorian.'Nothanks,Iwon'thaveanythingmore,'saidthepainter,takinghishatand

coat off. 'And now, my dear Dorian, I want to speak to you seriously. Don'tfrownlikethat.Youmakeitsomuchmoredifficultforme.''

'Whatisitallabout?'criedDorian,throwinghimselfdownonthesofa. 'Ihope it is not aboutmyself. I am tiredofmyself tonight. Iwouldprefer tobesomebodydifferent.'

'Itisaboutyourself,'answeredHallward,inhisdeepvoice,'andImustsayittoyou.'

Dorianbreatheddeeplyandlitacigarette.'Isitreallynecessary,Basil?''Ithinkyoushouldknowsomeoftheterriblethingsthatpeoplearesaying

aboutyou.''I don't want to know anything about them. I love scandals about other

people,butscandalsaboutmyselfdon'tinterestme.''Everygentleman is interested inhisgoodname,Dorian.Youdon'twant

peopletotalkofyouassomethingterribleandcorrupt.ButIdon'tbelievetheserumoursatall.AtleastIcan'tbelievethemwhenIseeyou.Corruptionisathingthatwritesitselfacrossaman'sface.Itcannotbehidden.'

'MydearBasil-''Andyet,Irarelyseeyounowandyounevercometomyhouse.WhenI

hearalltheterriblethingspeoplearewhisperingaboutyou,Idon'tknowwhattosay.Why have so many of your friends killed themselves? Young men fromgoodfamilieslikeAdrianSingletonandthatpooryoungsoldier?'

'Stop,Basil.Youaretalkingaboutthingsofwhichyouknownothing,'saidDorian.'IknowhowpeopletalkinEngland.Thisisacountrywherepeoplehavetwo faces.Theywhisper rumours aboutpeople likemyself, and thendomuchworsethingswhenothersarenotlooking.'

'Dorian,'criedHallward, 'that isnotthequestion.IknowEnglandisbad,butthat'sthereasonIwantyoutobeagoodinfluenceonyourfriends.Insteadyou have lost all belief in goodness and honesty. You have filled those pooryoungmenwithamadnessforpleasure.'

Doriansmiled.'Howcanyousmilelikethat?Ionlywantyoutohaveacleanname.You

have awonderful influence.Let it be for good.Yet Iwonderwhether I knowyou?ButIcan'tanswerthatquestion.Iwouldneedtoseeyoursoul.'

'Toseemysoul!'criedDorianGray.Hejumpedupfromthesofa,turningalmostwhitewithfear.

'Yes,'answeredHallward.Therewasadeepsadness inhisvoice. 'Toseeyoursoul.ButonlyGodcandothat.'

A bitter laugh came from the lips of the younger man. 'You will see ityourself, tonight!'hecried,pickingupalampfromthetable. 'Come,it isyourownwork.Whyshouldn'tyoulookatit?Youcantelltheworldallaboutitafter,ifyouwant.Nobodywillbelieveyou.Iftheydobelieveyou,theywilllikemebetter for it.Come, I tellyou.Youhave talkedenoughabout corruption.Nowyouwillseeitfacetoface.'

Therewasmadness in everywordhe said.He felt a terrible delight thatsomeonewasgoing to share his secret.Themanwhohadpainted the portraitwasgoing to sharehis shame.Thepainterwould suffer for the restofhis lifewiththememoryofwhathehaddone.

'Yes,'hecontinued,comingcloser tohim. 'Iwillshowyoumysoul.YouwillseewhatyouthinkonlyGodcansee.'

Hallwardjumpedback.'Youcannotsaythingslikethat,Dorian!'hecried. 'Theyarehorribleand

theydon'tmeananything.''Youthinkso?'Helaughedagain.'Iknowso.Dorian,youhavetotellme-'

'Don'ttouchme.Finishwhatyouhavetosay.'Thepainterfeltextraordinarilysad.Hewalkedover to thefireandstood

there.'Iamwaiting,Basil,'saidtheyoungman,inahard,clearvoice.Heturnedround.'WhatIhavetosayisthis,'hecried.'Youmustgiveme

someanswer to thehorrible thingspeoplearesayingagainstyou.Tellme thatthey are not true, Dorian! Can't you see what I am going through?MyGod!Don'ttellmethatyouarebadandcorruptandshameful.'

DorianGraysmiled.'Comeupstairs,Basil,'hesaid,quietly.'Ikeepadiaryofmylifefromdaytoday.Iwillshowittoyouifyoucomeupwithme.'

'Iwillcomewithyou,Dorian,ifyouwishit.IseeIhavemissedmytrain.Itdoesnotmatter.Icangotomorrow.Butdon'taskmetoreadanythingtonight.AllIwantisasimpleanswertomyquestion.'

'Iwillgiveittoyouupstairs.Icouldnotgiveittoyouhere.Youwillnothavetoreadforlong.'

CHAPTERTEN

BasilSeesthePortrait

Hepassedoutof theroomandbeganclimbingthestairs.BasilHallwardfollowed close behind. Theywalked softly, as people always do at night. Thelampmadestrangeshadowsonthewallandstairs.

When they reached the top,Dorian put the lamp down on the floor.Hetookthekeyoutofhispocketandturneditinthelock.

'Youreallywanttoknow,Basil?'heaskedinalowvoice.'Yes.''I am delighted,' he answered, smiling. Then he added, 'You are the one

manintheworldIwanttoknoweverythingaboutme.Youhaveinfluencedmylifemorethanyouthink.'Takingupthelamp,heopenedthedoorandwentin.Coldairpassedbetweenthem. 'Shut thedoorbehindyou,'hewhispered,asheplacedthelamponthetable.

Hallward looked around the room in surprise. The room had clearly notbeenlivedinforyears.Thewholeplacewascoveredwithdust,andtherewereholesinthecarpet.Amouseranacrossthefloor.

'SoyouthinkthatitisonlyGodwhoseesthesoul,Basil.Takethecoverofftheportrait,andyouwillseemine.'

Thevoicethatspokewascoldandcruel.'Youaremad,Dorian,'saidHallward,frowning.'Youwon't take the cover off?Then Iwill do itmyself,' said the young

man,throwingtheoldpurplecurtaintotheground.A cry of fear came from the painter's lips when he saw the face in the

portrait.ItwasDorianGray'sfacehewaslookingat,anditstillhadsomeofthatwonderfulbeauty.Butnowtherewereterriblesignsofageandcorruption.Butwhohaddoneit?Heheldthelampuptothepicture.Inthelefthandcornerwashisname,paintedinred.

Whathadhappened?Hehadneverdonethat.Still,itwashisownpicture.He knew it, and it made his blood turn to ice. His own picture!What did itmean?Whyhaditchanged?Heturned,andlookedatDorianGraywiththeeyes

ofasickman.Theyoungmanwasstandingnear thewall,watchinghim.Hehad taken

thefloweroutofhiscoat,andwassmellingit.'Whatdoesthismean?'criedHallward,atlast.Hisownvoicesoundedhigh

andstrange.'Yearsago,whenIwasaboy,'saidDorianGray,closinghishandon the

flower,'youmetmeandflatteredme.Youtaughtmetolovemybeauty.Onedayyou introducedme to a friendofyours.Heexplained tomehowwonderful itwastobeyoung.Youfinishedaportraitofmethatshowedmehowwonderfulitwastobebeautiful.InamadmomentImadeawish-'

'Irememberit!Oh,howwellIrememberit!No!Thethingisimpossible.Theremustbesomethingwrongwiththepaint.Itellyouthethingisimpossible.'

'Is anything really impossible?' said the young man, going over to thewindow.

'Youtoldmeyouhaddestroyedit.''Iwaswrong.Ithasdestroyedme.''I don't believe it is my picture. There was nothing bad in it, nothing

shameful.Youwereperfecttome.Thisisafacefromhell.''It is thefaceofmysoul.EachofushasHeavenandHell inhim,Basil,'

criedDorianwildly.Hallward turned again to the portrait, and stared at it. 'MyGod! Is this

true?' he cried. 'Is thiswhat you have donewith your life?Youmust be evenworsethanpeoplesay!'

Hallwardthrewhimselfintothechairbythetableandputhisfaceinhishands.Thelampfelltothefloorandwentout.

'GoodGod,Dorian!Whatanawfullesson!Whatanawfullesson!'Therewasnoanswer,buthecouldheartheyoungmancryingatthewindow.'WemustaskGodforforgiveness.Iworshippedyoutoomuch.Iampunishedforit.Youworshippedyourselftoomuch.Wearebothpunished.'

DorianGrayturnedslowlyaroundandlookedathim.Thereweretearsinhiseyes.'Itistoolate,Basil,'hesaid.

'Butdon'tyouseethathellishthingstaringatus?'

Dorian Gray looked at the picture. Suddenly he felt that he hated BasilHallward.Hehatedthemansittingat thetablemorethanhehatedanythinginhislife.

Helookedwildlyaround.Somethingshoneontopofthepaintedcupboardthat faced him. It was a knife he had left there some days before.Hemovedslowlytowardsit,passingHallwardashedidso.Hetooktheknifeinhishandandturnedaround.Hallwardmovedinhischair.Herushedathim,andstucktheknifeintohisneckagainandagain.

He threw the knife down on the table and stood back. He could hearnothingbutthesoundofbloodfallingontothecarpet.Heopenedthedoorandwentoutontothestairs.Thehousewascompletelyquiet.Noonewasthere.

Howquicklyithadallbeendone!Feelingstrangelycalm,hewalkedovertothewindowandopenedit.Thewindhadblownthefogawayandtheskywasclear.He lookeddownand sawapolicemanwalkingdown the street.Hewasshiningalampinallthehouses.

Closing thewindow,hewentback into the room.Hedidnot lookat themurderedman.Hefeltthatthesecretofthewholethingwasnottothinkaboutitatall.Thefriendwhohadpaintedthe terribleportraithadgoneoutofhis life.Thatwasenough.

He picked up the lamp and walked out of the room, locking the doorbehindhim.Ashewalkeddownthestairshethoughtthatheheardwhatsoundedlikecriesofpain.Hestoppedseveraltimes,andwaited.No,everythingwasstill.

Whenhereachedthelibrary,hesawthebagandcoatinthecorner.Theymust be hidden away somewhere. He unlocked a secret cupboard and threwthemin.Hecouldeasilyburn themlater.Thenhepulledouthiswatch. Itwastwentyminutestotwo.

He sat down and began to think. Basil Hallward had left the house ateleven.Noonehadseenhimcomeinagain.Theservantswereinbed…Paris!Yes. Itwas toParis thatBasil hadgone.Andby themidnight train as he hadplanned. It would be months before anyone suspected anything. Months! Hecoulddestroyeverythinglongbeforethen.

Suddenlyhehadathought.Heputonhiscoatandhatandwent intothefrontroom.Fromthewindowhecouldseethepolicemanpassingthehouse.Hewaited,andheldhisbreath.

After a few moments he went out of the house, shutting the door verygently behind him. Then he began ringing the bell. In about five minutes aservantappeared.Hewashalfdressedandlookedverysleepy.

'IamsorryIhadtowakeyouup,Francis,'hesaid,steppingin.'ButIhaveforgottenmykey.Whattimeisit?'

'Tenminutespasttwo,sir,'answeredtheman,lookingataclock.'Ten minutes past two? How horribly late! You must wake me at nine

tomorrow.Ihavesomeworktodo.''Allright,sir.''Didanyonecallthisevening?''MrHallward,sir.Hestayedhereuntileleven,and thenhewentawayto

catchhistrain.''Oh!IamsorryIdidn'tseehim.Didheleaveanymessage?''No,sir.HesaidhewouldwritetoyoufromParis.''Thatisall,Francis.Don'tforgettocallmeatninetomorrow.''No,sir.'Themanwentofftohisbedroom.Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the table and passed into the

library.Foraquarterofanhourhewalkedupanddowntheroom,bitinghislipandthinking.Thenhetookdownabookfromoneofthecupboards,andbeganto turn thepages. 'AlanCampbell,152HertfordStreet,Mayfair.'Yes, thatwasthemanhewanted.

CHAPTERELEVEN

TheProblemoftheBody

At nine o'clock the next morning his servant came in with a cup ofchocolate,andopenedthecurtains.Dorianwassleepingquitepeacefully,lyingwithonehandunderhischeek.

Asheopenedhiseyesasmilepassedacrosshislips.Heturnedround,andbegantodrinkhischocolate.TheNovembersuncameintotheroom,andtheskywasbright.ItwasalmostlikeamorninginMay.

Slowlyherememberedwhathadhappenedthenightbefore.Thedeadmanwas still sitting there, and in the sunlight now. How horrible that was! Suchterriblethingswereforthedarkness,nottheday.

After he had drunk his cup of chocolate, he went over to the table andwrote two letters. One he put in his pocket, and the other he handed to hisservant.

'Takethisroundto152HertfordStreet,Francis.IfMrCampbellisoutoftown,gethisaddress.'

When the servant had gone, he lit a cigarette, and began drawing on apieceofpaper.Firsthedrewflowers,thenhouses,thenhumanfaces.SuddenlyherealizedthateveryfacehedrewlookedlikeBasilHallward.Hefrownedandwentovertolieonthesofa.

An hourwent past very slowly. Every second he kept looking up at theclock. As the minutes went by he became horribly worried. He got up andwalkedaroundtheroom.Hishandswerestrangelycold.

Atlastthedooropened,andhisservantentered.'MrCampbell,sir,'saidtheman.Thecolourcamebacktohischeeks.'Askhimtocomeinatonce,Francis.'Hefelthimselfagain.Hisfearhad

goneaway.In a fewmomentsAlanCampbellwalked in.He lookedvery angry and

ratherworried.'Alan!Thisiskindofyou.Ithankyouforcoming.'

'I hoped never to enter your house again, Gray. But you said it was aquestionoflifeanddeath.'Hisvoicewashardandcold,andhekepthishandsinthepocketsofhiscoat.

'Yes,itisaquestionoflifeanddeath,Alan.Andtomorethanoneperson.Sitdown.'

Campbelltookachairbythetable,andDoriansatoppositehim.Thetwomen'seyesmet.InDorian'stherewasgreatsadness.Heknewthatwhathewasgoingtodowasterrible.

After a moment of silence, Dorian said very quietly, 'Alan, in a lockedroomatthetopofthehouse,adeadmanissittingatatable.Hehasbeendeadfor tenhoursnow.Don't stir,anddon't lookatme like that.Youdon'tneed toknowwhothismanis.Youdon'tneedtoknowhoworwhyhedied.Whatyouhavetodoisthis-'

'Stop,Gray.Idon'twanttoknowanythingmore.Idon'tcareifwhatyoutellmeistrueornottrue.Idon'twantanypartinyourlife.Keepyourhorriblesecretstoyourself.Theydon'tinterestmeanymore.'

'Alan,theywillhavetointerestyou.Iamawfullysorryforyou,Alan.ButI can't helpmyself. You are the oneman who can saveme. Alan, you are ascientist.Youknowaboutchemistry,andthingsofthatkind.Whatyouhavegottodoistodestroythethingthatisupstairs.'

'Youaremad,Dorian.Iwillhavenothingtodowiththis.''Hekilledhimself,Alan.''Iamgladofthat.Butwhomadehimdoit?You,Isuppose.''Doyoustillrefusetodothisforme?''OfcourseIrefuse.Youhavecometothewrongman.Gotosomeofyour

friends.Don'tcometome.''Alan, it was murder. I killed him. You don't know what he made me

suffer.''Murder!GoodGod,Dorian, is thatwhatyouhavecome to? Iwillhave

nothingtodowithit.''Youmusthavesomething todowith it.Don'taskanymorequestions. I

have toldyou toomuchalready.Butyoumustdo this.Wewere friendsonce,Alan.'

'Don'tspeakofthosedays,Dorian.Theyaredead.''Theywillhangmeforthis,Alan.Don'tyouunderstand?Theywillkillme

forwhatIhavedone.'Campbellgotuptoleave.'Iwillnothaveanythingtodowiththis.''Yourefuse?''Yes.'Thesame lookofsadnesscame intoDorianGray'seyes.Thenhe tooka

pieceofpaperandwrotesomethingonit.Hereaditoverandpusheditacrossthetable.Thenhegotupandwentovertothewindow.

Campbelllookedathiminsurpriseandpickedupthepaper.Ashereadit,hisfacewentwhite,andhefellbackinhischair.

Aftertwoorthreeminuteswithoutspeaking,Doriancameandstoodnexttohim.

'Iamverysorryforyou,Alan,'hesaid,puttinghishandonhisshoulder.'Butthereisnootherway.Ihavealetterwrittenalready.Hereitis.Youseetheaddress. Ifyoudon'thelpme, Iwill send it.Youknowwhatwillhappen.Butyouaregoingtohelpme.Itisimpossibleforyoutorefusenow.'

Campbellputhisfaceinhishands.'Thethingisquitesimple,Alan.Ithastobedone.Faceit,anddoit.'AterriblesoundcamefromCampbell'slips.'Come,Alan,youmustdecidenow.'Alanpausedforamoment.'Isthereafireintheroomupstairs?''Yes,thereisagasfire.''Imustgohomeandgetsome...things.''No,Alan,youmustnotleavethehouse.Writeoutwhatyouwant,andmy

servantwillgetthethingsforyou.'It was nearly two o'clock when the servant returned with an enormous

woodenboxfilledwiththethingsCampbellhadaskedfor.'Youcanhavetherestofthedaytoyourself,Francis.''Thankyou,sir.'

When the servant had left, the two men carried the box up the stairs.Doriantookoutthekeyandturneditinthelock.ThenhestoppedandCampbellsawthathiseyeswerefulloftears.'Idon'tthinkIcangoin,Alan,'hesaid.

'Idon'tneedyou,'saidCampbellcoldly.Dorianhalfopenedthedoor.Ashedidso,hesawthefaceoftheportrait

staringinthesunlight.Herememberedthatthenightbeforehehadforgottentocover the picture.Hewas about to rush forwardwhen he saw something thatmadehimjumpback.

Therewasbloodononeofthehandsintheportrait.Howhorribleitwas!Hehurriedintotheroom,tryingnottolookatthedeadman.Pickingthe

curtainoffthefloorhethrewitoverthepicture.Thenherushedoutoftheroomanddownthestairs.

ItwaslongaftersevenwhenCampbellcamebackintothelibrary.Hewasquietandwhite in theface,butverycalm. 'Ihavedonewhatyouaskedme todo,'hesaid.'Andnowgoodbye.Letusneverseeeachotheragain.'

'Youhavesavedme,Alan.Icannotforgetthat,'saidDorian,simply.WhenCampbellhad lefthewentupstairs.Therewasahorrible smell in

theroom.Butthethingthathadbeensittingatthetablewasgone.

CHAPTERTWELVE

'WhyDoYouLooksoYoung?'

'Don't tellme that you are going to be good,' cried LordHenry. 'You'requiteperfect.Don'tchange.'

Dorian Gray shook his head. 'No, Harry, I have done toomany terriblethingsinmylife.Iamnotgoingtodoanymore.Buttellme,whatishappeninghereinLondon?Ihavebeenoutofthecountryformorethanamonth.'

'PeoplearestilldiscussingpoorBasil'sdisappearance.''Aretheynotboredwiththatyet?'saidDorian,pouringoutsomewineand

frowning.'Mydearboy,theyhaveonlybeentalkingaboutitforsixweeks.The British only need one subject of conversation every three months.

Theyhavebeenvery luckyrecently, though.First therewas thescandalofmywife leaving me, and then Alan Campbell killed himself. Now there is themysteriousdisappearanceofanartist.TheBritishpolicearesayingthatBasildidtakethemidnighttrainontheninthofNovember,buttheFrenchpolicearesurethatheneverarrivedinParisatall.'

'WhatdoyouthinkhashappenedtoBasil?'askedDorian,holdinguphiswineagainstthelight.

'Ihavenoidea.IfBasilwantstohidehimself,itisnobusinessofmine.Ifhe is dead, I don'twant to think about him.Death is the only thing that everfrightensme.Ihateit.'

'Why?'saidtheyoungerman,inatiredvoice.'Because,'saidLordHenry,'itistheonlythingthatisfinal.Letushaveour

coffeeinthemusicroom,Dorian.YoumustplayChopintome.Themanwhoran away with my wife played Chopin beautifully. Poor Victoria! I was veryfondofher.Thehouseisquitelonelywithouther.'

Doriansaidnothing,butwentintothenextroomandsatatthepiano.Afterthecoffeehadbeenbroughtin,hestoppedplaying.

'Harry,' he said, looking over at Lord Henry. 'Do you think Basil wasmurdered?'

LordHenry yawned. 'Everyone likedBasil.Whowouldwant tomurderhim?Hewasnotcleverenoughtohaveenemies.Ofcoursehewasawonderfulpainter.ButamancanpaintlikeVelasquezandyetstillberatherboring.Basilwasreallyratherboring.Theonlythingthatinterestedmeabouthimwasthatheworshippedyou.'

'IwasveryfondofBasil,'saidDoriansadly.'Butdon'tpeoplesayhewasmurdered?'

'Oh, somenewspapersdo.But I don't think it is likely. I know there areawfulplacesinParis,butBasilwasnotthesortofmantogotothem.'

'Whatwouldyousay,Harry,ifItoldyouthatIhadmurderedBasil?'saidtheyoungerman.Hewatchedhimcarefullyafterhehadspoken.

'No, Dorian, you would not murder anyone. It is ordinary people whomurder.Itistheirwayoffindingtheextraordinarypleasurethatartgivesus.'

'Awayoffindingtheextraordinarypleasure?Doyouthinkthatamanwhohasmurderedcoulddoitagain.Don'ttellmethat.'

'Oh!Anythingbecomesapleasureifyoudoittoooften,'criedLordHenry,laughing.'Thatisoneofthemostimportantsecretsoflife.Ibelieve,though,thatmurderisalwaysamistake.Oneshouldneverdoanythingonecannottalkaboutafterdinner.ButletuspassfrompoorBasil.IwishIcouldbelievethathehasdiedsomeromanticdeath,butIcan't.HeprobablyfellintotheSeineoffabus.Icanseehimnowlyingonhisbackinthedirtygreenwater.Duringthelasttenyearshehadnotbeenpaintingwell.'

LordHenrywalkedacrosstheroomandtouchedtheheadofastrangegreybirdthathekeptinthemusicroom.ThenheturnedtofaceDorian.

'Yes,'hecontinued,takinghishandkerchiefoutofhispocket,'hispaintingseemed tome to have lost something.When you and he stopped being greatfriends, he stopped being a great artist. What was it that separated you? Isupposeheboredyou.Ifso,heneverforgaveyou.Bytheway,whathappenedtothatwonderfulportraithedidofyou?Idon'tthinkIhaveeverseenitsincehefinishedit.'

'Itoldyouyearsagothatitwasstolen.''Oh! I remember. You never got it back? What a shame! It really was

wonderful.IrememberIwantedtobuyit.IwishIhaditnow.'

'Ineverreallylikedit,'saidDorian.'IamsorryIsatforit.Thememoryofthethingishatefultome.'

'How sad you look! Don't be so serious. Play me some music, Dorian.And,asyouplay,tellmeinalowvoicewhyyoustilllooksoyoung.Iamonlytenyearsolderthanyouare,andIhavegreyhairandyellowskin.Youarereallywonderful,Dorian.'

'Harry,please-''Youhavenever lookedmorecharming thanyoudo tonight.Youremind

meofthedayIfirstsawyou.Youwereveryshy,andabsolutelyextraordinary.Youhavechanged,ofcourse,butnotinappearance.Youarestillthesame.'

'Iamnotthesame,Harry.''Yes,youarethesame.IwishIcouldchangeplaceswithyou,Dorian.The

worldhascriedoutagainstusboth,butithasalwaysworshippedyou.Italwayswillworshipyou.Lifehasbeenyourart.'

Doriangotupfromthepiano,andpassedhishandthroughhishair. 'Yes,lifehasbeenbeautiful,'hesaid,quietly,'butIamnotgoingtohavethesamelife,Harry. And youmust not say these things tome. You don't know everythingaboutme.Ithinkthatifyoudid,evenyouwouldturnawayfromme.Youlaugh.Don'tlaugh.'

'Whyhaveyoustoppedplaying,Dorian?Letusgototheclub.Ithasbeenacharmingevening,andwemustenditcharmingly.ThereissomeoneIwanttointroduce to you - youngLordPoole.He has already copied your ties and heverymuchwantstomeetyou.Heisquitecharmingandheremindsmeofyou.'

'I hope not,' said Dorian, with a sad look in his eyes. 'But I am tiredtonight,Harry.Iwon'tgototheclub.Itisnearlyeleven,andIwanttogotobedearly.'

'Pleasestay.Youhaveneverplayedsowellastonight.''It isbecause Iamgoing tobegood,'heanswered,smiling. 'Iama little

changedalready.''Youcan'tchangetome,Dorian,'saidLordHenry.'YouandIwillalways

befriends.Comeroundtomorrow.Weshallgotolunch.''Doyoureallywantmetocome,Harry?''Certainly.Theparkisquitelovelynow.Idon'tthinktherehavebeensuch

flowerssincetheyearImetyou.''Verywell.Ishallbehereateleven,'saidDorian.'Good-night,Harry.'

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

'ToKillthePast'

Itwasalovelynight.Hewalkedhome,withhiscoatonhisarm,smokinghiscigarette.Twoyoungmenineveningdresspassedhim.Heheardoneofthemwhispertotheother,'ThatisDorianGray'.Herememberedhowpleasedheusedtobewhenhewasstaredat,or talkedabout.Hewas tiredofhearinghisownnamenow.

Whenhereachedhome,hefoundhisservantwaitingupforhim.Hesenthimtobed,andthrewhimselfdownonthesofainthelibrary.HebegantothinkaboutsomeofthethingsthatLordHenryhadsaidtohim.

Was it really true that one could never change? There had been a timewhenhehadbeengoodandinnocent.Hehadcorruptedhimself,andbecomeaterribleinfluenceonothers.Hehadevengotpleasurefromthiscorruption.Yethissoulhadoncebeenthepurestofall.Wasallthatgone?Wastherenohopeforhim?

Inoneterriblemomentofpassion,hehadaskedtostayyoungforalltime.Allhisfailurehadbeenbecauseofthat.Hehadnotbeenpunished,butperhapspunishmentwaswhathehadneeded.Punishmentcleanedthesoul.

ThemirrorthatLordHenryhadgiventohim,somanyyearsagonow,wasstandingonthetable.Hepickeditup,rememberingthathorriblenightwhenhehadfirstnoticed thechange in thepicture.Once,someonewhohad lovedhimpassionatelyhadwrittenhimamad letter. Ithadendedwith thesewords: 'Theworld is changedbecauseyouaremadeofgold.'He repeated them tohimselfandsuddenlyrealizedthathehatedhisownbeauty.Throwingthemirroronthefloor,hebroketheglassintolittlepieceswithhisfoot.Itwashisbeautythathadspoiledhim.

Itwasbetternottothinkofthepast.Nothingcouldchangethat.Hehadtothinkofhis future.AlanCampbellhadshothimselfonenight,andhis terriblesecrethaddiedwithhim.TheinterestinBasilHallward'sdisappearancewouldsoonpassaway.Hewasperfectlysafethere.

Whatworried himwas the death of his own soul.Basil had painted theportrait that had destroyed his life. He could not forgive him that. It was theportraitthathaddoneeverything.Themurderhadjustbeenthemadnessofthe

moment.AsforAlanCampbell,hehadkilledhimself.ItwasnothingtodowithDorianGray.

Anewlife!Thatwaswhathewanted.Thatwaswhathewaswaitingfor.Perhapsithadbegunalready.Hewouldneveragainspoilinnocence.Hewouldbegood.

Hebegantowonderiftheportraitinthelockedroomhadchanged.Wasitstillashorribleas ithadbeen?Perhaps ifhis lifebecamepure, theface in theportraitwouldbecomebeautifulagain.Hewouldgoandlook.

Hetookthelampfromthetableandwentupstairs.Asheopenedthedoor,asmileofhappinesspassedacrosshisyoungface.Yes,hewouldbegood,andthe ugly thing he had locked awaywould not frighten him anymore.He felthappieralready.

Hewentinquietly,lockingthedoorbehindhim.Walkingstraightovertotheportrait,hetookoffthepurplecurtainthatwascoveringit.Anangrycryofpaincamefromhim.Hecouldseenochange.Thethingwasstillhateful-morehateful,even,thanbefore.Theredmarkonthehandseemedbrighterandmorelikenewblood.Andwhywas the redmark larger than ithadbeen? Itwasalloverthefingersnow.Therewasbloodonthepaintedfeet,andbloodonthehandthathadnotheldtheknife.

Whatdiditallmean?Thatheshouldgotothepolice?Thatheshouldtellthewholestory,andbeputtodeath?Helaughed.Hefelttheideawasabsurd.Ifhe did tell them now,whowould believe him? Therewas nothing left of themurdered man anywhere. He had destroyed everything belonging to BasilHallward.Hehimselfhadburnedthebagandthecoat.Theywouldsimplysayhewasmad.

Wasthismurdertofollowhimallhislife?Washealwaysgoingtosufferbecauseofhispast?Yetwhatcouldhedo?Gotothepolice?Never.

There was only one thing they could use against him and that was thepictureitself.Hewoulddestroyit.Whyhadhekeptitsolong?Onceithadgivenhimpleasuretowatchitchangingandgrowingold.Recentlyhehadfeltnosuchpleasure.Ithadkepthimawakeatnight.Whenhehadbeenaway,hehadbeenfrightenedthatanotherpersonwouldseeit.Justthememoryofitspoiledmanymomentsofhappiness.Hewoulddestroyit.

HelookedaroundandsawtheknifethathadkilledBasilHallward.Hehad

cleaned itmany times until therewas nomark left on it. Itwas bright, and itshone.Ithadkilledthepainter.Nowitwouldkillthepainter'swork,andallthatitmeant.Itwouldkillthepast.Whenthatwasdeadhewouldbefree.Hepickeduptheknifeandpusheditintothepicture.

There was a cry, and a crash. The cry was so horrible that frightenedservantswokeandcameoutoftheirrooms.Twogentlemen,whowerepassingintheSquarebelow,stopped,andlookedupatthegreathouse.Theyhurriedonuntiltheymetapoliceman,andbroughthimback.Thepolicemanrangthebellseveral times, but there was no answer. Except for a light in one of the topwindows, thehousewasalldark.Aftera time,hewentawayandstood in thegardenofthenexthouseandwatched.

'Whosehouseisthat?'askedtheolderofthetwogentlemen.'MrDorianGray's,sir,'answeredthepoliceman.Theylookedateachotherastheywalkedaway,andlaughedcruelly.They

knewwhoDorianGraywas.Inside thehouse theservantswere talking in lowwhispers toeachother.

OldMrsLeafwascrying.Franciswasaswhiteasdeath.After about a quarter of an hour, they went fearfully upstairs. They

knocked, but there was no reply. They called out. Everything was still. Theytriedthedoor.Itwaslocked.Finally,theygotontheroofandcameintotheroomthroughthewindow.

Whentheyenteredtheroomtheyfoundaportraithangingonthewall.ItshowedMrDorianGrayastheyhadlastseenhim,youngandbeautiful.Lyingon the floorwasadeadman ineveningdress.Hehadaknife inhisheart.Hewas old and horribly ugly. It was not until they saw his rings that theyrecognizedwhothemanwas.

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