orrible moment. Dorian did not know what
to say or do. "Down on your knees!" growled the man. "I give you one
minute to make your peace--no more. I go on board to-night for India,
and I must do my job first. One minute. That's all."

Dorian's arms fell to his side. Paralysed with terror, he did not know
what to do. Suddenly a wild hope flashed across his brain. "Stop," he
cried. "How long ago is it since your sister died? Quick, tell me!"

"Eighteen years," said the man. "Why do you ask me? What do years
matter?"

"Eighteen years," laughed Dorian Gray, with a touch of triumph in his
voice. "Eighteen years! Set me under the lamp and look at my face!"

James Vane hesitated for a moment, not understanding what was meant.
Then he seized Dorian Gray and dragged him from the archway.

Dim and wavering as was the wind-blown light, yet it served to show him
the hideous error, as it seemed, into which he had fallen, for the face
of the man he had sought to kill had all the bloom of boyhood, all the
unstained purity of youth. He seemed little more than a lad of twenty
summers, hardly older, if older indeed at all, than his sister had been
when they had parted so many years ago. It was obvious that this was not
the man who had destroyed her life.

He loosened his hold and reeled back. "My God! my God!" he cried, "and I
would have murdered you!"

Dorian Gray drew a long breath. "You have been on the brink of
committing a terrible crime, my man," he said, looking at him sternly.
"Let this be a warning to you not to take vengeance into your own
hands."

"Forgive me, sir," muttered James Vane. "I was deceived. A chance word I
heard in that damned den set me on the wrong track."

"You had better go home, and put that pistol away, or you may get into
trouble," said Dorian, turning on his heel, and going slowly down the
street.

James Vane stood on the pavement in horror. He was trembling from head
to foot. After a little while a black shadow that had been creeping
along the dripping wall, moved out into the light and came close to him
with stealthy footsteps. He felt a hand laid on his arm and looked round
with a start. It was one of the women who had been drinking at the bar.

"Why didn't you kill him?" she hissed out, putting her haggard face
quite close to his. "I knew you were following him when you rushed out
from Daly's. You fool! You should have killed him. He has lots of money,
and he's as bad as bad."

"He is not