CHAPTER XX.

Itwasalovelynight,sowarmthathethrewhiscoatoverhisarmanddidnotevenputhissilkscarfroundhisthroat.Ashestrolledhome,smokinghiscigarette,twoyoungmenineveningdresspassedhim.Heheardoneofthemwhispertotheother,“ThatisDorianGray.”Herememberedhowpleasedheusedtobewhenhewaspointedout,orstaredat,ortalkedabout.Hewastiredofhearinghisownnamenow.Halfthecharmofthelittlevillagewherehehadbeensooftenlatelywasthatnooneknewwhohewas.Hehadoftentoldthegirlwhomhehadluredtolovehimthathewaspoor,andshehadbelievedhim.Hehadtoldheroncethathewaswicked,andshehadlaughedathimandansweredthatwickedpeoplewerealwaysveryoldandveryugly.Whatalaughshehad!—justlikeathrushsinging.Andhowprettyshehadbeeninhercottondressesandherlargehats!Sheknewnothing,butshehadeverythingthathehadlost. Whenhereachedhome,hefoundhisservantwaitingupforhim.Hesenthimtobed,andthrewhimselfdownonthesofainthelibrary,andbegantothinkoversomeofthethingsthatLordHenryhadsaidtohim. Wasitreallytruethatonecouldneverchange?Hefeltawildlongingfortheunstainedpurityofhisboyhood—hisrose-whiteboyhood,asLordHenryhadoncecalledit.Heknewthathehadtarnishedhimself,filledhismindwithcorruptionandgivenhorrortohisfancythathehadbeenanevilinfluencetoothers,andhadexperiencedaterriblejoyinbeingsoandthatofthelivesthathadcrossedhisown,ithadbeenthefairestandthemostfullofpromisethathehadbroughttoshame.Butwasitallirretrievable?Wastherenohopeforhim? Ah!inwhatamonstrousmomentofprideandpassionhehadprayedthattheportraitshouldbeartheburdenofhisdays,andhekeeptheunsulliedsplendourofeternalyouth!Allhisfailurehadbeenduetothat.Betterforhimthateachsinofhislifehadbroughtitssureswiftpenaltyalongwithit.Therewaspurificationinpunishment.Not“Forgiv