Three o'clock struck, and four, and the half-hour rang its double chime, but Dorian Gray did not stir.He was trying to gather up the scarlet threads of life and to weave them into a pattern; to find his way through the sanguine labyrinth of passion through which he was wandering.He did not know what to do, or what to think.Finally, he went over to the table and wrote a passionate letter to the girl he had loved, imploring her forgiveness and accusing himself of madness.He covered page after page with wild words of sorrow and wilder words of pain.There is a luxury in self-reproach.
When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us.It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.When Dorian had finished the letter, he felt that he had been forgiven.
Suddenly there came a knock to the door, and he heard Lord Henry's voice outside."My dear boy, I must see you.Let me in at once.I can't bear your shutting yourself up like this."He made no answer at first, but remained quite still.The knocking still continued and grew louder.Yes, it was better to let Lord Henry in, and to explain to him the new life he was going to lead, to quarrel with him if it became necessary to quarrel, to part if parting was inevitable.
He jumped up, drew the screen hastily across the picture, and unlocked the door.
"I am so sorry for it all, Dorian," said Lord Henry as he entered.
"But you must not think too much about it.""Do you mean about Sibyl Vane?" asked the lad.
"Yes, of course," answered Lord Henry, sinking into a chair and slowly pulling off his yellow gloves."It is dreadful, from one point of view, but it was not your fault.Tell me, did you go behind and see her, after the play was over?""Yes."
"I felt sure you had.Did you make a scene with her?""I was brutal, Harry--perfectly brutal.But it is all right now.
I am not sorry for anything that has happened.It has taught me to know myself better.""Ah, Dorian, I am so glad you take it in that way! I was afraid I would find you plunged in remorse and tearing that nice curly hair of yours.""I have got through all that," said Dorian, shaking his head and smiling."I am perfectly happy now.I know what conscience is, to begin with.It is not what you told me it was.It is the divinest thing in us.
Don't sneer at it, Harry, any more--at least not before me.I want to be good.I can't bear the idea of my soul being hideous.""A very charming artistic basis for ethics, Dorian! I congratulate you on it.But how are you going to begin?""By marrying Sibyl Vane."
"Marrying Sibyl Vane!" cried Lord Henry, standing up and looking at him in perplexed amazement."But, my dear Dorian--""Yes, Harry, I know what you are going to say.Something dreadful about marriage.Don't say it.Don't ever say things of that kind to me again.Two days ago I asked Sibyl to marry me.I am not going to break my word to her.She is to be my wife.""Your wife! Dorian!...Didn't you get my letter? I wrote to you this morning, and sent the note down by my own man.""Your letter? Oh, yes, I remember.I have not read it yet, Harry.
I was afraid there might be something in it that I wouldn't like.You cut life to pieces with your epigrams.""You know nothing then?"
"What do you mean?"
Lord Henry walked across the room, and sitting down by Dorian Gray, took both his hands in his own and held them tightly."Dorian," he said, "my letter--don't be frightened--was to tell you that Sibyl Vane is dead."A cry of pain broke from the lad's lips, and he leaped to his feet, tearing his hands away from Lord Henry's grasp."Dead! Sibyl dead!
It is not true! It is a horrible lie! How dare you say it?""It is quite true, Dorian," said Lord Henry, gravely."It is in all the morning papers.I wrote down to you to ask you not to see any one till I came.There will have to be an inquest, of course, and you must not be mixed up in it.Things like that make a man fashionable in Paris.
But in London people are so prejudiced.Here, one should never make one's début with a scandal.One should reserve that to give an interest to one's old age.I suppose they don't know your name at the theatre?
If they don't, it is all right.Did any one see you going round to her room? That is an important point."Dorian did not answer for a few moments.He was dazed with horror.
Finally he stammered, in a stifled voice, "Harry, did you say an inquest?
What did you mean by that? Did Sibyl--? Oh, Harry, I can't bear it! But be quick.Tell me everything at once.""I have no doubt it was not an accident, Dorian, though it must be put in that way to the public.It seems that as she was leaving the theatre with her mother, about half-past twelve or so, she said she had forgotten something upstairs.They waited some time for her, but she did not come down again.They ultimately found her lying dead on the floor of her dressing-room.She had swallowed something by mistake, some dreadful thing they use at theatres.I don't know what it was, but it had either prussic acid or white lead in it.I should fancy it was prussic acid, as she seems to have died instantaneously.""Harry, Harry, it is terrible!" cried the lad.
"Yes; it is very tragic, of course, but you must not get yourself mixed up in it.I see by The Standard that she was seventeen.Ishould have thought she was almost younger than that.She looked such a child, and seemed to know so little about acting.Dorian, you mustn't let this thing get on your nerves.You must come and dine with me, and afterwards we will look in at the opera.It is a Patti night, and everybody will be there.You can come to my sister's box.She has got some smart women with her.""So I have murdered Sibyl Vane," said Dorian Gray, half to himself, "murdered her as surely as if I had cut her little throat with a knife.
