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CHAPTER X.

WE had resolved not to go to London, but to cross the country to Portsmouth, and thence to embark for Havre. I preferred this plan principally because I dreaded to see again those places in which I had enjoyed a few moments of tranquillity with my beloved Clerval. I thought with horror of seeing again those persons whom we had been accustomed to visit together, and who might mkae inquiries concerning an event, the very remembrance of which made me again feel the pang I endured

when I gazed on his lifeless form in the

inn at

As for my father, his desires and exertions were bounded to the again seeing me restored to health and peace of mind. His tenderness and attentions were unremitting; my grief and gloom was obstinate, but he would not despair. Sometimes he thought that I felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.

"how

"Alas! my father," said I, little do you know me. Human beings, their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded, if such a wretch as I felt pride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I, and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause of this— I murdered her. William, Justine,

and Henry-they all died by my hands."

My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same. assertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring of delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had presented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved in my convalescence. I avoided explanation, and maintained a continual silence concerning the wretch I had created. I had a feeling that I should be supposed mad, and this for ever chained my tongue, when I would have given the whole world to have confided the fatal secret.

Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded won

der,

"What do you mean, Victor?.

180

FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

when I gazed on his lifeless

inn at

As for my father, his

mind.

HE MODERN PROMET

they all died by

me make the same hus accused myself,

often, during my im

to desire an ex

he appeared to
g of delirium,

some idea
Steelf to my
of which

nice. I

were

ertions were bounded
ing me restored to
His tender
unremitting
was obstinate, by
Sometimes he
the degradati
swer a char
deavoured

pride.

Alas

"Alas

little d

their

deed

I f

Ji

numan

this speech con

that my ideas were

d he instantly changed the of our conversation, and enared to alter the course of my ughts. He wished as much as posble to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in Ireland,

d to them, or suffered

MODERN PROMETHEUS,

181

ey all died by my

n, during my imused myself, make the same

red to

re an ex

misfortunes.

ay I became more dwelling in my

talked in the f my own

+he con

utmost

e imperious

which sometimes

itself to the whole

manners were calmer mposed than they had ever

.ce my journey to the sea of ice.

e arrived at Havre on the 8th of May, and instantly proceeded to Paris, where my father had some business, which detained us a few weeks. In this city I received the following letter from Elizabeth:

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