I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility and glory.
September 9 the ice began to move, and we were in the most imminent
peril. I had promised the sailors that should a passage open to the
south, I would not continue my voyage, but would instantly direct my
course southward. On the 11th a breeze sprung from the west, and the
passage towards the south became perfectly free. Frankenstein bade me
farewell when he heard my decision, and died pressing my hand.
At midnight I heard the sound of a hoarse human voice in the cabin where
the remains of Frankenstein were lying. I entered, and there, over the
body, hung a form gigantic, but uncouth and distorted, and with a face
of appalling hideousness.
The monster uttered wild and incoherent self-reproaches. "He is dead who
called me into being," he cried, "and the remembrance of us both will
speedily vanish. Soon I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer
felt."
He sprang from the cabin window as he said this, upon the ice-raft which
lay close to the vessel, and was borne away by the waves, and lost in
darkness and distance.
* * * * *