Casu
The hare leapt with a beautiful grace and its coat flashed in the sunlight. Dorian smiled for a moment. It was then he realised Sir Geoffrey had raised his gun.
"Oh, Geoffrey, don't! It's beautiful! Let it live!"
Sir Geoffrey laughed. "You're mad, Dorian. Of course I shall shoot it."
"Don't." Dorian looked at him with an extraordinarily beautiful sulkiness. "I like it. Let it live."
With an amused expression, Sir Geoffrey lowered the gun. "You are a funny one, Dorian. All right, if you demand that I not shoot it, I won't, but I really don't think it all that beautiful."
"I do. Thank you, Geoffrey."
"The next one, though, you won't stop me from."
Dorian sighed. "I suppose not. Well, it is--" They both heard the crack of the shot, and Dorian stared down at his waistcoat front, which was already beginning to turn red and damp. Sir Geoffrey blanched.
"Stop shooting! Stop shooting! A man's been hit!"
Transfixed, Dorian put a hand to his chest and felt it become wet. He fainted.
When he came around, he saw half a dozen people and a doctor all looking at him anxiously. Lord Henry was carelessly pushing everyone around to get closer to the couch on which Dorian was lying.
"Dorian? Dorian, are you all right? You've given everyone the most ghastly fright. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I'm--I'm all right. It only hurts a bit, Harry."
"A bit! I should say so. You were nearly killed."
"Was I?" asked Dorian vaguely, wishing all the people would go away.
"We found the man, too, and it wasn't an accident, apparently. He's been dragged off. He was a sailor. A murderous sailor. I must find a way to talk to him; I'm sure murderers, or would-be murderers are very interesting."
"Harry, you're only saying such dreadful things because you were worried," said the Duchess, frowning. "Don't listen to him, Dorian. He's being horrid. The doctor says you will be all right. It was only a near miss."
Dorian nodded tiredly.
They let him go home soon, for the wound healed strangely quickly and vanished without a scar. As soon as he stepped from the carriage in front of his house, he hurried to his portrait. From the centre of its heart a long, dark stream of blood had poured down, staining its clothes. Dorian nearly wept. James Vane could not hurt him.
Chapter Five.
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