صفحة 112 من 483

While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I

wandered on with a hasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated

my spirits; I clasped my hands, and exclaimed aloud, "William,

dear angel! this is thy funeral, this thy dirge!" As I said these

words, I perceived in the gloom a figure which stole from behind

a clump of trees near me; I stood fixed, gazing intently: 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, the filthy daemon,

to whom I had given life. What did he there? Could he be (I

shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No

sooner did that idea cross my imagination, than I became

convinced of its truth; my teeth chattered, and I was forced to

lean against a tree for support. The figure passed me quickly,

and I lost it in the gloom.