Selected Prose of Oscar Wilde eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 117 pages of information about Selected Prose of Oscar Wilde.

Virginia made no answer, and the Ghost wrung his hands in wild despair as he looked down at her bowed golden head.  Suddenly she stood up, very pale, and with a strange light in her eyes.  ‘I am not afraid,’ she said firmly, ‘and I will ask the Angel to have mercy on you.’

He rose from his seat with a faint cry of joy, and taking her hand bent over it with old-fashioned grace and kissed it.  His fingers were as cold as ice, and his lips burned like fire, but Virginia did not falter, as he led her across the dusky room.  On the faded green tapestry were broidered little huntsmen.  They blew their tasselled horns and with their tiny hands waved to her to go back.  ‘Go back! little Virginia,’ they cried, ‘go back!’ but the Ghost clutched her hand more tightly, and she shut her eyes against them.  Horrible animals with lizard tails, and goggle eyes, blinked at her from the carven chimney-piece, and murmured ‘Beware! little Virginia, beware! we may never see you again,’ but the Ghost glided on more swiftly, and Virginia did not listen.  When they reached the end of the room he stopped, and muttered some words she could not understand.  She opened her eyes, and saw the wall slowly fading away like a mist, and a great black cavern in front of her.  A bitter cold wind swept round them, and she felt something pulling at her dress.  ‘Quick, quick,’ cried the Ghost, ‘or it will be too late,’ and, in a moment, the wainscoting had closed behind them, and the Tapestry Chamber was empty.—­The Canterville Ghost.


“Well,” said Erskine, lighting a cigarette, “I must begin by telling you about Cyril Graham himself.  He and I were at the same house at Eton.  I was a year or two older than he was, but we were immense friends, and did all our work and all our play together.  There was, of course, a good deal more play than work, but I cannot say that I am sorry for that.  It is always an advantage not to have received a sound commercial education, and what I learned in the playing fields at Eton has been quite as useful to me as anything I was taught at Cambridge.  I should tell you that Cyril’s father and mother were both dead.  They had been drowned in a horrible yachting accident off the Isle of Wight.  His father had been in the diplomatic service, and had married a daughter, the only daughter, in fact, of old Lord Crediton, who became Cyril’s guardian after the death of his parents.  I don’t think that Lord Crediton cared very much for Cyril.  He had never really forgiven his daughter for marrying a man who had not a title.  He was an extraordinary old aristocrat, who swore like a costermonger, and had the manners of a farmer.  I remember seeing him once on Speech-day.  He growled at me, gave me a sovereign, and told me not to grow up ‘a damned Radical’ like my father.  Cyril had very little affection for him, and was only too glad to spend most of his holidays with us in Scotland. 

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Selected Prose of Oscar Wilde from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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