it　was　some　foul　parody；　some　infamous　ignoble　satire。　he　had　never　done　that。　still；　it　was　his　own　picture。　he　knew　it；　and　he　felt　as　if　his　blood　had　changed　in　a　moment　from　fire　to　sluggish　ice。　his　own　picture！　what　did　it　mean？　why　had　it　altered？　he　turned　and　looked　at　dorian　gray　with　the　eyes　of　a　sick　man。　his　mouth　twitched；　and　his　parched　tongue　seemed　unable　to　articulate。　he　passed　his　hand　across　his　forehead。　it　was　dank　with　clammy　sweat。
  the　young　man　was　leaning　against　the　mantelshelf；　watching　him　with　that　strange　expression　that　one　sees　on　the　faces　of　those　who　are　absorbed　in　a　play　when　some　great　artist　is　acting。　there　was　neither　real　sorrow　in　it　nor　real　joy。　there　was　simply　the　passion　of　the　spectator；　with　perhaps　a　flicker　of　triumph　in　his　eyes。　he　had　taken　the　flower　out　of　his　coat；　and　was　smelling　it；　or　pretending　to　do　so。
  〃what　does　this　mean？〃　cried　hallward；　at　last。　his　own　voice　sounded　shrill　and　curious　in　his　ears。
  〃years　ago；　when　i　was　a　boy；〃　said　dorian　gray；　crushing　the　flower　in　his　hand；　〃you　met　me；　flattered　me；　and　taught　me　to　be　vain　of　my　good　looks。　one　day　you　introduced　me　to　a　friend　of　yours；　who　explained　to　me　the　wonder　of　youth；　and　you　finished　a　portrait　of　me　that　revealed　to　me　the　wonder　of　beauty。　in　a　mad　moment　that；　even　now；　i　dont　know　whether　i　regret　or　not；　i　made　a　wish；　perhaps　you　would　call　it　a　prayer。　。　。　。〃
  〃i　remember　it！　oh；　how　well　i　remember　it！　no！　the　thing　is　impossible。　the　room　is　damp。　mildew　has　got　into　the　canvas。　the　paints　i　used　had　some　wretched　mineral　poison　in　them。　i　tell　you　the　thing　is　impossible。〃
  〃ah；　what　is　impossible？〃　murmured　the　young　man；　going　over　to　the　window　and　leaning　his　forehead　against　the　cold；　mist…stained　glass。
  〃you　told　me　you　had　destroyed　it。〃
  〃i　was　wrong。　it　has　destroyed　me。〃
  〃i　dont　believe　it　is　my　picture。〃
  〃cant　you　see　your　ideal　in　it？〃　said　dorian　bitterly。
  〃my　ideal；　as　you　call　it。　。　。〃
  〃as　you　called　it。〃
  〃there　was　nothing　evil　in　it；　nothing　shameful。　you　were　to　me　such　an　ideal　as　i　shall　never　meet　again。　this　is　the　face　of　a　satyr。〃
  〃it　is　the　face　of　my　soul。〃
  〃christ！　what　a　thing　i　must　have　worshipped！　it　has　the　eyes　of　a　devil。〃
  〃each　of　us　has　heaven　and　hell　in　him；　basil；〃　cried　dorian　with　a　wild　gesture　of　despair。
  hallward　turned　again　to　the　portrait　and　gazed　at　it。　〃my　god！　if　it　is　true；〃　he　exclaimed；　〃and　this　is　what　you　have　done　with　your　life；　why；　you　must　be　worse　even　than　those　who　talk　against　you　fancy　you　to　be！〃　he　held　the　light　up　again　to　the　canvas　and　examined　it。　the　surface　seemed　to　be　quite　undisturbed　and　as　he　had　left　it。　it　was　from　within；　apparently；　that　the　foulness　and　horror　had　e。　through　some　strange　quickening　of　inner　life　the　leprosies　of　sin　were　slowly　eating　the　thing　away。　the　rotting　of　a　corpse　in　a　watery　grave　was　not　so　fearful。
  his　hand　shook；　and　the　candle　fell　from　its　socket　on　the　floor　and　lay　there　sputtering。　he　placed　his　foot　on　it　and　put　it　out。　then　he　flung　himself　into　the　rickety　chair　that　was　standing　by　the　table　and　buried　his　face　in　his　hands。
  〃good　god；　dorian；　what　a　lesson！　what　an　awful　lesson！〃　there　was　no　answer；　but　he　could　hear　the　young　man　sobbing　at　the　window。　〃pray；　dorian；　pray；〃　he　murmured。　〃what　is　it　that　one　was　taught　to　say　in　ones　boyhood？　lead　us　not　into　temptation。　forgive　us　our　sins。　wash　away　our　iniquities。　let　us　say　that　together。　the　prayer　of　your　pride　has　been　answered。　the　prayer　of　your　repentance　will　be　answered　also。　i　worshipped　you　too　much。　i　am　punished　for　it。　you　worshipped　yourself　too　much。　we　are　both　punished。〃
  dorian　gray　turned　slowly　around　and　looked　at　him　with　tear…dimmed　eyes。　〃it　is　too　late；　basil；〃　he　faltered。
  〃it　is　never　too　late；　dorian。　let　us　kneel　down　and　try　if　we　cannot　remember　a　prayer。　isnt　there　a　verse　somewhere；　though　your　sins　be　as　scarlet；　yet　i　will　make　them　as　white　as　snow？〃
  〃those　words　mean　nothing　to　me　now。〃
  〃hush！　dont　say　that。　you　have　done　enough　evil　in　your　life。　my　god！　dont　you　see　that　accursed　thing　leering　at　us？〃
  dorian　gray　glanced　at　the　picture；　and　suddenly　an　uncontrollable　feeling　of　hatred　for　basil　hallward　came　over　him；　as　though　it　had　been　suggested　to　him　by　the　image　on　the　canvas；　whispered　into　his　ear　by　those　grinning　lips。　the　mad　passions　of　a　hunted　animal　stirred　within　him；　and　he　loathed　the　man　who　was　seated　at　the　table；　more　than　in　his　whole　life　he　had　ever　loathed　anything。　he　glanced　wildly　around。　something　glimmered　on　the　top　of　the　painted　chest　that　faced　him。　his　eye　fell　on　it。　he　knew　what　it　was。　it　was　a　knife　that　he　had　brought　up；　some　days　before；　to　cut　a　piece　of　cord；　and　had　forgotten　to　take　away　with　him。　he　moved　slowly　towards　it；　passing　hallward　as　he　did　so。　as　soon　as　he　got　behind　him；　he　seized　it　and　turned　round。　hallward　stirred　in　his　chair　as　if　he　was　going　to　rise。　he　rushed　at　him　and　dug　the　knife　into　the　great　vein　that　is　behind　the　ear；　crushing　the　mans　head　down　on　the　table　and　stabbing　again　and　again。
  there　was　a　stifled　groan　and　the　horrible　sound　of　some　one　choking　with　blood。　three　times　the　outstretched　arms　shot　up　convulsively；　waving　grotesque；　stiff…fingered　hands　in　the　air。　he　stabbed　him　twice　more；　but　the　man　did　not　move。　something　began　to　trickle　on　the　floor。　he　waited　for　a　moment；　still　pressing　the　head　down。　then　he　threw　the　knife　on　the　table；　and　listened。
  he　could　hear　nothing；　but　the　drip；　drip　on　the　threadbare　carpet。　he　opened　the　door　and　went　out　on　the　landing。　the　house　was　absolutely　quiet。　no　one　was　about。　for　a　few　seconds　he　stood　bending　over　the　balustrade　and　peering　down　into　the　black　seething　well　of　darkness。　then　he　took　out　the　key　and　returned　to　the　room；　locking　himself　in　as　he　did　so。
  the　thing　was　still　seated　in　the　chair；　straining　over　the　table　with　bowed　head；　and　humped　back；　and　long　fantastic　arms。　had　it　not　been　for　the　red　jagged　tear　in　the　neck　and　the　clotted　black　pool　that　was　slowly　widening　on　the　table；　one　would　have　said　that　the　man　was　simply　asleep。
  how　quickly　it　had　all　been　done！　he　felt　strangely　calm；　and　walking　over　to　the　window；　opened　it　and　stepped　out　on　the　balcony。　the　wind　had　blown　the　fog　away；　and　the　sky　was　like　a　monstrous　peacocks　tail；　starred　with　myriads　of　golden　eyes。　he　looked　down　and　saw　the　policeman　going　his　rounds　and　flashing　the　long　beam　of　his　lantern　on　the　doors　of　the　silent　houses。　the　crimson　spot　of　a　prowling　hansom　gleamed　at　the　corner　and　then　vanished。　a　woman　in　a　fluttering　shawl　was　creeping　slowly　by　the　railings；　staggering　as　she　went。　now　and　then　she　stopped　and　peered　back。　once；　she　began　to　sing　in　a　hoarse　voice。　the　policeman　strolled　over　and　said　something　to　her。　she　stumbled　away；　laughing。　a　bitter　blast　swept　across　the　square。　the　gas…lamps　flickered　and　became　blue；　and　the　leafless　trees　shook　their　black　iron　branches　to　and　fro。　he　shivered　and　went　back；　closing　the　window　behind　him。
  having　reached　the　door；　he　turned　the　key　and　opened　it。　he　did　not　even　glance　at　the　murdered　man。　he　felt　that　the　secret　of　the　whole　thing　was　not　to　realize　the　situation。　the　friend　who　had　painted　the　fatal　portrait　to　which　all　his　misery　had　been　due　had　gone　out　of　his　life。　that　was　enough。
  then　he　remembered　the　lamp。　it　was　a　rather　curious　one　of　moorish　workmanship；　made　of　dull　silver　inlaid　with　arabesques　of　burnished　steel；　and　studded　with　coarse　turquoises。　perhaps　it　might　be　missed　by　his　servant；　and　questions　would　be　asked。　he　hesitated　for　a　moment；　then　he　turned　back　and　took　it　from　the　table。　he　could　not　help　seeing　the　dead　thing。　how　still　it　was！　how　horribly　white　the　long　hands　looked！　it　was　like　a　dreadful　wax　image。
  having　locked　the　door　behind　him；　he　crept　quietly　downstairs。　the　woodwork　creaked　and　seemed　to　cry　out　as　if　in　pain。　he　stopped　several　times　and　waited。　no：　everything　was　still。　it　was　merely　the　sound　of　his　own　footsteps。
  when　he　reached　the　library；　he　saw　the　bag　and　coat　in　the　corner。　they　must　be　hidden　away　somewhere。　he　unlocked　a　secret　press　that　was　in　the　wainscoting；　a　press　in　which　he　kept　his　own　curious　disguises；　and　put　them　into　it。　he　could　easily　burn　them　afterwards。　then　he　pulled　out　his　watch。　it　was　twenty　minutes　to　two。
  he　sat　down　and　began　to　think。　every　yearevery　month；　almost　men　were　strangled　in　england　for　what　he　had　done。　there　had　been　a　madness　of　murder　in　the　air。　some　red　star　had　e　too　close　to　the　earth。　。　。　。　and　yet；　what　evidence　was　there　against　him？　basil　hallward　had　left　the　house　at　eleven。　no　one　had　seen　him　e　in　again。　most　of　the　servants　were　at　selby　royal。　his　valet　had　gone　to　bed。。。。　paris！　yes。　it　was　to　paris　that　basil　had　gone；　and　by　the　midnight　train；　as　he　had　intended。　with　his　curious　reserved　habits；　it　would　be　months　before　any　suspicions　would　be　roused。　months！　everything　could　be　destroyed　long　before　then。
  a　sudden　thought　struck　him。　he　put　on　his　fur　coat　and　hat　and　went　out　into　the　hall。　there　he　paused；　hearing　the　slow　heavy　tread