and rushed downstairs.

No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. I had gazed on
him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those muscles and
joints were rendered capable of motion, no mummy could be so hideous. I
took refuge in the court-yard, and passed the night wretchedly.

For several months I was confined by a nervous fever, and on my recovery
was filled with a violent antipathy even to the name of Natural
Philosophy.

A letter from my father telling me that my youngest brother William had
been found murdered, and bidding me return and comfort Elizabeth, made
me decide to hasten home.

It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva. The
gates of the town were shut, and I was obliged to pass the night at a
village outside. A storm was raging on the mountains, and I wandered out
to watch the tempest and resolved to visit the spot where my poor
William had been murdered.

Suddenly I perceived in the gloom a figure which stole from behind a
clump of trees near me; I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning
illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me. Its
gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect, more hideous than
belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch to
whom I had given life. What did he there? Could he be the murderer of my
brother? No sooner did that idea cross my imagination than I became
convinced of its truth. The figure passed me quickly, and I lost it in
the gloom. I thought of pursuing, but it would have been in vain, for