il," he answered. "You have dropped it."

She laughed. "I have still the mask."

"It makes your eyes lovelier," was his reply.

She laughed again. Her teeth showed like white seeds in a scarlet fruit.

Upstairs, in his own room, Dorian Gray was lying on a sofa, with terror
in every tingling fibre of his body. Life had suddenly become too
hideous a burden for him to bear. The dreadful death of the unlucky
beater, shot in the thicket like a wild animal, had seemed to him to
prefigure death for himself also. He had nearly swooned at what Lord
Henry had said in a chance mood of cynical jesting.

At five o'clock he rang his bell for his servant and gave him orders to
pack his things for the night-express to town, and to have the brougham
at the door by eight-thirty. He was determined not to sleep another
night at Selby Royal. It was an ill-omened place. Death walked there in
the sunlight. The grass of the forest had been spotted with blood.

Then he wrote a note to Lord Henry, telling him that he was going up to
town to consult his doctor, and asking him to entertain his guests in
his absence. As he was putting it into the envelope, a knock came to the
door, and his valet informed him that the head-keeper wished to see him.
He frowned, and bit his lip. "Send him in," he muttered, after some
moments' hesitation.

As soon as the man entered Dorian pulled his chequebook out of a drawer,
and spread it out before him.

"I suppose you have come about the unfortunate accident of this morning,
Thornton?" he said, taking up a pen.

"Yes, sir," answered the gamekeeper.

"Was the poor fellow married? Had he any people dependent on him?" asked
Dorian, looking bored. "If so, I should not like them to be left in
want, and will send them any sum of money you may think necessary."

"We don't know who he is, sir. That is what I took the liberty of coming
to you about."

"Don't know who he is?" said Dorian, listlessly. "What do you mean?
Wasn't he one of your men?"

"No, sir. Never saw him before. Seems like a sailor, sir."

The pen dropped from Dorian Gray's hand, and he felt as if his heart had
suddenly stopped beating. "A sailor?" he cried out. "Did you say a
sailor?"

"Yes, sir. He looks as if he had been a sort of sailor; tattooed on both
arms, and that kind of thing."

"Was there anything found on him?" said Dorian, leaning forward and
looking at the man with startled eyes. "Anything that would tell his
name?"

"So