horrible were going to happen to some of us. To myself, perhaps," he
added, passing his hand over his eyes, with a gesture of pain.

The elder man laughed. "The only horrible thing in the world is ennui,
Dorian. That is the one sin for which there is no forgiveness. But we
are not likely to suffer from it unless these fellows keep chattering
about this thing at dinner. I must tell them that the subject is to be
tabooed. As for omens, there is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does
not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that. Besides,
what on earth could happen to you, Dorian? You have everything in the
world that a man can want. There is no one who would not be delighted to
change places with you."

"There is no one with whom I would not change places, Harry. Don't laugh
like that. I am telling you the truth. The wretched peasant who has just
died is better off than I am. I have no terror of death. It is the
coming of death that terrifies me. Its monstrous wings seem to wheel in
the leaden air around me. Good heavens! don't you see a man moving
behind the trees there, watching me, waiting for me?"

Lord Henry looked in the direction in which the trembling gloved hand
was pointing. "Yes," he said, smiling, "I see the gardener waiting for
you. I suppose he wants to ask you what flowers you wish to have on the
table to-night. How absurdly nervous you are, my dear fellow! You must
come and see my doctor, when we get back to town."

Dorian heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the gardener approaching. The
man touched his hat, glanced for a moment at Lord Henry in a hesitating
manner, and then produced a letter, which he handed to his master. "Her
Grace told me to wait for an answer," he murmured.

Dorian put the letter into his pocket. "Tell her Grace that I am coming
in," he said, coldly. The man turned round and went rapidly in the
direction of the house.

"How fond women are of doing dangerous things!" laughed Lord Henry. "It
is one of the qualities in them that I admire most. A woman will flirt
with anybody in the world as long as other people are looking on."

"How fond you are of saying dangerous things, Harry! In the present
instance, you are quite astray. I like the duchess very much, but I
don't love her."

"And the duchess loves you very much, but she likes you less, so you are
excellently matched."

"You are talking scandal, Harry, and there is never any basis for scandal."

"The basis of every scandal is an immoral certainty," said Lord Henry,
lighting a cigarette.

"You would sacrifice anybody, Harry, for the sake of an epigram."

"The world goes to the altar of its own accord," was the answer.

"I wish I could love," cried Dorian Gray with a deep note of pathos in
his voice. "But I seem to have lost the passion and forgotten the
desire. I am too much concentrated on myself. My own personality has
become a burden to me. I want to escape, to go away, to forget. It was
silly of me to come down here at all. I think I shall send a wire to
Harvey to have the yacht got ready. On a yacht one is safe."

"Safe from what, Dorian? You are in some trouble. Why not tell me what
it is? You know I would help you."

"I can't tell you, Harry," he answered sadly. "And I dare say it is only
a fancy of mine. This unfortunate accident has upset me. I have a
horrible presentiment that something of the kind may happen to me."

"What nonsense!"

"I hope it is, but I can't help feeling it. Ah! here is the duchess,
looking like Artemis in a tailor-made gown. You see we have come back,
Duchess."

"I have heard all about it, Mr. Gray," she answered. "Poor Geoffrey is
terribly upset. And it seems that you asked him not to shoot the hare.
How curious!"

"Yes, it was very curious. I don't know what made me say it. Some whim,
I suppose. It looked the loveliest of little live things. But I am sorry
they told you about the man. It is a hideous subject."

"It is an annoying subject," broke in Lord Henry. "It has no
psychological value at all. Now if Geoffrey had done the thing on
purpose, how interesting he would be! I should like to know some one who
had committed a real murder."

"How horrid of you, Harry!" cried the duchess. "Isn't it, Mr. Gray?
Harry, Mr. Gray is ill again. He is going to faint."

Dorian drew himself up with an effort and smiled. "It is nothing,
Duchess," he murmured; "my nerves are dreadfully out of order. That is
all. I am afraid I walked too far this morning. I didn't hear what Harry
said. Was it very bad? You must tell me some other time. I think I must
go and lie down. You will excuse me, won't you?"

They had reached the great flight of steps that led from the
conservatory on to the terrace. As the glass door closed behind Dorian,
Lord Henry turned and looked at the duchess with his slumberous eyes.


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