everything that belongs to him, into a handful of ashes that I may
scatter in the air."

"You are mad, Dorian."

"Ah! I was waiting for you to call me Dorian."

"You are mad, I tell you--mad to imagine that I would raise a finger to
help you, mad to make this monstrous confession. I will have nothing to
do with this matter, whatever it is. Do you think I am going to peril my
reputation for you? What is it to me what devil's work you are up to?"

"It was suicide, Alan."

"I am glad of that. But who drove him to it? You, I should fancy."

"Do you still refuse to do this for me?"

"Of course I refuse. I will have absolutely nothing to do with it. I
don't care what shame comes on you. You deserve it all. I should not be
sorry to see you disgraced, publicly disgraced. How dare you ask me, of
all men in the world, to mix myself up in this horror? I should have
thought you knew more about people's characters. Your friend Lord Henry
Wotton can't have taught you much about psychology, whatever else he has
taught you. Nothing will induce me to stir a step to help you. You have
come to the wrong man. Go to some of your friends. Don't come to me."

"Alan, it was murder. I killed him. You don't know what he had made me
suffer. Whatever my life is, he had more to do with the making or the
marring of it than poor Harry has had. He may not have intended it, the
result was the same."

"Murder! Good God, Dorian, is that what you have come to? I shall not
inform upon you. It is not my business. Besides, without my stirring in
the matter, you are certain to be arrested. Nobody ever commits a crime
without doing something stupid. But I will have nothing to do with it."

"You must have something to do with it. Wait, wait a moment; listen to
me. Only listen, Alan. All I ask of you is to perform a certain
scientific experiment. You go to hospitals and dead-houses, and the
horrors that you do there don't affect you. If in some hideous
dissecting-room or fetid laboratory you found this man lying on a leaden
table with red gutters scooped out in it for the blood to flow through,
you would simply look upon him as an admirable subject. You would not
turn a hair. You would not believe that you were doing anything wrong.
On the contrary, you would probably feel that you were benefiting the
human race, or increasing the sum of knowledge in the world, or
gratifying intellectual curiosity, or something of that kind. What I
want you to do is merely what you have often done before. Indeed, to
destroy a body must be far less horrible than what you are accustomed to
work at. And, remember, it is the only piece of evidence against me. If
it is discovered, I am lost; and it is sure to be discovered unless you
help me."

"I have no desire to help you. You forget that. I am simply indifferent
to the whole thing. It has nothing to do with me."

"Alan, I entreat you. Think of the position I am in. Just before you
came I almost fainted with terror. You may know terror yourself some
day. No! don't think of that. Look at the matter purely from the
scientific point of view. You don't inquire where the dead things on
which you experiment come from. Don't inquire now. I have told you too
much as it is. But I beg of you to do this. We were friends once, Alan."

"Don't speak about those days, Dorian--they are dead."

"The dead linger sometimes. The man upstairs will not go away. He is
sitting at the table with bowed head and outstretched arms. Alan! Alan!
If you don't come to my assistance, I am ruined. Why, they will hang me,
Alan! Don't you understand? They will hang me for what I have done."

"There is no good in prolonging this scene. I absolutely refuse to do
anything in the matter. It is insane of you to ask me."

"You refuse?"

"Yes."

"I entreat you, Alan."

"It is useless."

The same look of pity came into Dorian Gray's eyes. Then he stretched
out his hand, took a piece of paper, and wrote something on it. He read
it over twice, folded it carefully, and pushed it across the table.
Having done this, he got up and went over to the window.

Campbell looked at him in surprise, and then took up the paper, and
opened it. As he read it, his face became ghastly pale and he fell back
in his chair. A horrible sense of sickness came over him. He felt as if
his heart was beating itself to death in some empty hollow.

After two or three minutes of terrible silence, Dorian turned round and
came and stood behind him, putting his hand upon his shoulder.

"I am so sorry for you, Alan," he murmured, "but you leave me no
alternative. I have a letter written already. Here it is. You see the
address. If you don't help me, I must send it. If you don't help me, I
will send it. You know what the result will be. But you are going to
help me. It is impossible for you to refuse now. I tried to spare you.


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