ure swift penalty along with it. There urification in punishment. Not "Five us our sins" but "Smite us for our iniquities" should be the prayer of man to a most just God.
The curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had given to him, so many years ago now, was standing oable, and the white-limbed Cupids laughed round it as of old. He took it up, as he had done on that night of horror when be had first he ge ial picture, and with wild, tear-dimmed eyes looked into its polished shield. Once, some one who had terribly loved him had written to him a mad letter, ending with these idolatrous words: &quot;The world is ged because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.&quot; The phrases came back to his memory, and he repeated them over and over to himself. Then he loathed his owy, and flinging the mirror on the floor, crushed it into silver splinters beh his heel. It was his beauty that had ruined him, his beauty and the youth that he had prayed for. But for those two things, his life might have been free from stain. His beauty had been to him but a mask, his youth but a mockery. What was youth at best? A green<bdo></bdo>, an uime, a time of shallow moods, and sickly thoughts. Why had he worn its livery? Youth had spoiled him.
It was better not to think of the past. Nothing could alter that. It was of himself, and of his own future, that he had to think. James Vane was hidden in a nameless grave in Selby churchyard. Alan Campbell had shot himself one night in his laboratory, but had not revealed the secret that he had been forced to know. The excitement, such as it was, over B<mark>.</mark>asil Hallwards disappearance would soon pass away. It was already waning. He erfectly safe there. Nor, indeed, was it the death of Basil Hallward that weighed most upon his mind. It was the livih of his own soul tha