emonaonenight,andOpheliatheother;thatifshediedasJuliet,shecametolifeasImogen."

    "Shewillneveretolifeagainnow,"mutteredthelad,buryinghisfahishands.

    "No,shewillneveretolife.Shehasplayedherlastpart.Butyoumustthinkofthatlonelydeathiawdrydressing-roomsimplyasastrangeluridfragmentfromsomeJacobeantragedy,asawonderfulsefromWebster,orFord,orCyrilTourhegirlneverreallylived,andsoshehasneverreallydied.Toyouatleastshewasalwaysadream,aphantomthatflittedthroughShakespearesplaysahemlovelierforitspresence,areedthroughwhichShakespearesmusidedricherandmorefullofjoy.Themomeouchedactuallife,shemarredit,anditmarredher,andsoshepassedaway.MournforOphelia,ifyoulike.PutashesonyourheadbecauseCordeliawasstrangled.CryoutagainstHeavenbecausethedaughterofBrabantiodied.ButdontwasteyourtearsoverSibylVane.Shewaslessrealthantheyare."

    Therewasasileheeveningdarkeheroom.Noiselessly,andwithsilverfeet,theshadowscreptinfromthegarden.Thecoloursfadedwearilyoutofthings.

    AftersometimeDraylookedup."Youhaveexplaiomyself,Harry,"hemurmuredwithsomethingofasighofrelief."Ifeltallthatyouhavesaid,butsomehowIwasafraidofit,andIcouldnotexpressittomyself.Howwellyoukwewillnottalkagainofwhathashappehasbeenamarvellousexperiehatisall.Iwonderiflifehasstillinstoreformeanythingasmarvellous."

    "Lifehaseverythinginstoreforyou,Dorian.Thereisnothingthatyou,withyourextraordinarygoodlooks,willnotbeabletodo."

    "Butsuppose,Harry,Ibecamehaggard,andold