Oh! When will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the daemon, allow
me the rest I so much desire; or must I die, and he yet live? If I do,
swear to me, Walton, that he shall not escape, that you will seek him
and satisfy my vengeance in his death. And do I dare to ask of you to
undertake my pilgrimage, to endure the hardships that I have
undergone? No; I am not so selfish. Yet, when I am dead, if he should
appear, if the ministers of vengeance should conduct him to you, swear
that he shall not live--swear that he shall not triumph over my
accumulated woes and survive to add to the list of his dark crimes. He
is eloquent and persuasive, and once his words had even power over my
heart; but trust him not. His soul is as hellish as his form, full of
treachery and fiend-like malice. Hear him not; call on the names of
William, Justine, Clerval, Elizabeth, my father, and of the wretched
Victor, and thrust your sword into his heart. I will hover near and
direct the steel aright.
Walton, in continuation.
August 26th, 17--
You have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do you not
feel your blood congeal with horror, like that which even now curdles
mine? Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, he could not continue his
tale; at others, his voice broken, yet piercing, uttered with
difficulty the words so replete with anguish.
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