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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. His

fine and lovely eyes were now lighted up with indignation, now

subdued to downcast sorrow and quenched in infinite wretchedness.

Sometimes he commanded his countenance and tones and related the

most horrible incidents with a tranquil voice, suppressing every

mark of agitation; then, like a volcano bursting forth, his face

would suddenly change to an expression of the wildest rage as he

shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor.