CHAPTER XX.

eusoursins”but“Smiteusforouriniquities”shouldbetheprayerofmantoamostjustGod. ThecuriouslycarvedmirrorthatLordHenryhadgiventohim,somanyyearsagonow,wasstandingonthetable,andthewhite-limbedCupidslaughedrounditasofold.Hetookitup,ashehaddoneonthatnightofhorrorwhenhehadfirstnotedthechangeinthefatalpicture,andwithwild,tear-dimmedeyeslookedintoitspolishedshield.Once,someonewhohadterriblylovedhimhadwrittentohimamadletter,endingwiththeseidolatrouswords:“Theworldischangedbecauseyouaremadeofivoryandgold.Thecurvesofyourlipsrewritehistory.”Thephrasescamebacktohismemory,andherepeatedthemoverandovertohimself.Thenheloathedhisownbeauty,andflingingthemirroronthefloor,crusheditintosilversplintersbeneathhisheel.Itwashisbeautythathadruinedhim,hisbeautyandtheyouththathehadprayedfor.Butforthosetwothings,hislifemighthavebeenfreefromstain.Hisbeautyhadbeentohimbutamask,hisyouthbutamockery.Whatwasyouthatbest?Agreen,anunripetime,atimeofshallowmoods,andsicklythoughts.Whyhadhewornitslivery?Youthhadspoiledhim. Itwasbetternottothinkofthepast.Nothingcouldalterthat.Itwasofhimself,andofhisownfuture,thathehadtothink.JamesVanewashiddeninanamelessgraveinSelbychurchyard.AlanCampbellhadshothimselfonenightinhislaboratory,buthadnotrevealedthesecretthathehadbeenforcedtoknow.Theexcitement,suchasitwas,overBasilHallward’sdisappearancewouldsoonpassaway.Itwasalreadywaning.Hewasperfectlysafethere.Nor,indeed,wasitthedeathofBasilHallwardthatweighedmostuponhismind.Itwasthelivingdeathofhisownsoulthattroubledhim.Basilhadpaintedtheportraitthathadmarredhislife.Hecouldnotforgivehimthat.Itwastheportraitthathaddoneeverything.Basilhadsaidthingstohimthatwereunbearable,andthathehadyetbor