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1The next day he did not leave the house, and, indeed, spent most of the time in his own room, sick with a wild terror of
2dying, and yet indifferent to life itself. The consciousness of being hunted, snared, tracked down, had begun to
3dominate him. If the tapestry did but tremble in the wind, he shook. The dead leaves that were blown against the leaded
4panes seemed to him like his own wasted resolutions and wild regrets. When he closed his eyes, he saw again the sailor's
5face peering through the mist-stained glass, and horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart. But perhaps it
6had been only his fancy that had called vengeance out of the night and set the hideous shapes of punishment before him.
7Actual life was chaos, but there was something terribly logical in the imagination. It was the imagination that set
8remorse to dog the feet of sin. It was the imagination that made each crime bear its misshapen brood. In the common
9world of fact the wicked were not punished, nor the good rewarded. Success was given to the strong, failure thrust upon
10the weak. That was all. Besides, had any stranger been prowling round the house, he would have been seen by the servants
11or the keepers. Had any foot-marks been found on the flower-beds, the gardeners would have reported it. Yes, it had been
12merely fancy. Sibyl Vane's brother had not come back to kill him. He had sailed away in his ship to founder in some
13winter sea. From him, at any rate, he was safe. Why, the man did not know who he was, could not know who he was. The
14mask of youth had saved him. And yet if it had been merely an illusion, how terrible it was to think that conscience
15could raise such fearful phantoms, and give them visible form, and make them move before one! What sort of life would
16his be if, day and night, shadows of his crime were to peer at him from silent corners, to mock him from secret places,
17to whisper in his ear as he sat at the feast, to wake him with icy fingers as he lay asleep! As the thought crept
18through his brain, he grew pale with terror, and the air seemed to him to have become suddenly colder. Oh! in what a
19wild hour of madness he had killed his friend! How ghastly the mere memory of the scene! He saw it all again. Each
20hideous detail came back to him with added horror. Out of the black cave of time, terrible and swathed in scarlet, rose
21the image of his sin. When Lord Henry came in at six o'clock, he found him crying as one whose heart will break. It was
22not till the third day that he ventured to go out. There was something in the clear, pine-scented air of that winter
23morning that seemed to bring him back his joyousness and his ardour for life. But it was not merely the physical
24conditions of environment that had caused the change. His own nature had revolted against the excess of anguish that had
25sought to maim and mar the perfection of its calm. With subtle and finely wrought temperaments it is always so. Their
26strong passions must either bruise or bend. They either slay the man, or themselves die. Shallow sorrows and shallow
27loves live on. The loves and sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plenitude. Besides, he had convinced
28himself that he had been the victim of a terror-stricken imagination, and looked back now on his fears with something of
29pity and not a little of contempt. After breakfast, he walked with the duchess for an hour in the garden and then drove
30across the park to join the shooting-party. The crisp frost lay like salt upon the grass. The sky was an inverted cup of
31blue metal. A thin film of ice bordered the flat, reed-grown lake. At the corner of the pine-wood he caught sight of Sir
32Geoffrey Clouston, the duchess's brother, jerking two spent cartridges out of his gun. He jumped from the cart, and
33having told the groom to take the mare home, made his way towards his guest through the withered bracken and rough
34undergrowth. "Have you had good sport, Geoffrey?" he asked. "Not very good, Dorian. I think most of the birds have gone
35to the open. I dare say it will be better after lunch, when we get to new ground." Dorian strolled along by his side.
36The keen aromatic air, the brown and red lights that glimmered in the wood, the hoarse cries of the beaters ringing out
37from time to time, and the sharp snaps of the guns that followed, fascinated him and filled him with a sense of
38delightful freedom. He was dominated by the carelessness of happiness, by the high indifference of joy. Suddenly from a
39lumpy tussock of old grass some twenty yards in front of them, with black-tipped ears erect and long hinder limbs
40throwing it forward, started a hare. It bolted for a thicket of alders. Sir Geoffrey put his gun to his shoulder, but
41there was something in the animal's grace of movement that strangely charmed Dorian Gray, and he cried out at once,
42"Don't shoot it, Geoffrey. Let it live." "What nonsense, Dorian!" laughed his companion, and as the hare bounded into
43the thicket, he fired. There were two cries heard, the cry of a hare in pain, which is dreadful, the cry of a man in
44agony, which is worse. "Good heavens! I have hit a beater!" exclaimed Sir Geoffrey. "What an ass the man was to get in
45front of the guns! Stop shooting there!" he called out at the top of his voice. "A man is hurt." The head-keeper came
46running up with a stick in his hand. "Where, sir? Where is he?" he shouted. At the same time, the firing ceased along
47the line. "Here," answered Sir Geoffrey angrily, hurrying towards the thicket. "Why on earth don't you keep your men
48back? Spoiled my shooting for the day." Dorian watched them as they plunged into the alder-clump, brushing the lithe
49swinging branches aside. In a few moments they emerged, dragging a body after them into the sunlight. He turned away in
50horror. It seemed to him that misfortune followed wherever he went. He heard Sir Geoffrey ask if the man was really
51dead, and the affirmative answer of the keeper. The wood seemed to him to have become suddenly alive with faces. There
52was the trampling of myriad feet and the low buzz of voices. A great copper-breasted pheasant came beating through the
53boughs overhead. After a few moments--that were to him, in his perturbed state, like endless hours of pain--he felt a
54hand laid on his shoulder. He started and looked round. "Dorian," said Lord Henry, "I had better tell them that the
55shooting is stopped for to-day. It would not look well to go on." "I wish it were stopped for ever, Harry," he answered
56bitterly. "The whole thing is hideous and cruel. Is the man ...?" He could not finish the sentence. "I am afraid so,"
57rejoined Lord Henry. "He got the whole charge of shot in his chest. He must have died almost instantaneously. Come; let
58us go home." They walked side by side in the direction of the avenue for nearly fifty yards without speaking. Then
59Dorian looked at Lord Henry and said, with a heavy sigh, "It is a bad omen, Harry, a very bad omen." "What is?" asked
60Lord Henry. "Oh! this accident, I suppose. My dear fellow, it can't be helped. It was the man's own fault. Why did he
61get in front of the guns? Besides, it is nothing to us. It is rather awkward for Geoffrey, of course. It does not do to
62pepper beaters. It makes people think that one is a wild shot. And Geoffrey is not; he shoots very straight. But there
63is no use talking about the matter." Dorian shook his head. "It is a bad omen, Harry. I feel as if something horrible
64were going to happen to some of us. To myself, perhaps," he added, passing his hand over his eyes, with a gesture of
65pain.
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