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Dorian watched them as they plunged into the alder-clump,

brushing the lithe swinging branches aside. In a few moments they

emerged, dragging a body after them into the sunlight. He turned

away in horror. It seemed to him that misfortune followed

wherever he went. He heard Sir Geoffrey ask if the man was really

dead, and the affirmative answer of the keeper. The wood seemed

to him to have become suddenly alive with faces. There was the

trampling of myriad feet and the low buzz of voices. A great

copper-breasted pheasant came beating through the boughs

overhead.

After a few moments-that were to him, in his perturbed state,

like endless hours of pain-he felt a hand laid on his shoulder.

He started and looked round.

"Dorian," said Lord Henry, "I had better tell them that the

shooting is stopped for to-day. It would not look well to go on."

"I wish it were stopped for ever, Harry," he answered bitterly.

"The whole thing is hideous and cruel. Is the man ...?"

He could not finish the sentence.