merciful nature came to his rescue and he fainted.
S E V E N
VICTOR LAY ILL for many days. I insisted I must summon his parents from Switzerland, but this he would not allow. When I pressed
him to ask them to come, he became agitated, so I assumed temporary responsibility for his health for a time. My first thought
was to persuade him to leave that house in which his wife and child had been slain. I even wondered if the murderer would
return to strike again, for it was very obscure what the man's motive had been in killing an innocent woman and child, and
I had become doubtful whether the matter could be as simple as a thief interrupted and killing those who might identify him.
Victor, though, refused to remove to Mrs. Downey's, who had sympathetically agreed to assist a man she did not know. He was
so insistent about staying where he was that I yielded, thinking more argument would impede his recovery and instead hired,
as well as nurses for Victor, two sturdy watchmen to protect him.
For the first week he lay in a raging fever, but later improved, at which point I felt it safe to ask him who he thought the
man in the garden might have been and whether he thought he had any part in the murders. But he only replied, “I cannot tell
you. To tell you anything would mean telling you everything and that I cannot do—cannot.” And with that he turned his wasted
face from me on the pillow.
“Victor,” I persisted, “tell me, I implore you. Describe the man. Say what he is to you.”
He turned a tear-stained face to me and whispered, “Jonathan—please leave me.” And I was forced to go, though I could not
believe that with such a weight as seemed to be pressing on his mind, my friend's recovery could be either quick or complete.
Meanwhile, Hugo and Lucy Feltham, who had heard of the death of Elizabeth Frankenstein and her son, arrived in London to stay
with Victor and do what they could for him. Slowly he recovered his health.
E I G H T
IT WAS AT THIS TIME that Mrs. Downey's sister Mrs. Alice Frazer arrived from Scotland. Mrs. Frazer did not generally travel
with her husband since they had one of those comfortable marriages whose happiness depends to some extent on the couple spending
considerable portions of their time apart. Therefore she always brought with her on the long journey south a stout young man,
twenty years of age, Donald Gilmore by name, who protected her while traveling and accompanied her about London when she wished
to go out alone. However, once in town there was little for Gilmore to do, so the custom was that, since he was a skilful
man especially as regards carpentry, Mrs. Downey would set him to repairing her house where repairs were needed.
Some two weeks after the murders, an afternoon was dictated by Mrs. Feltham to be Victor's first excursion into the outside
world since his illness. Therefore a party consisting of Victor and Hugo and Lucy Feltham arrived at the front door in Gray's
Inn Road. Young Gilmore was at the open door, in the act of filing off the bottom, for it had begun to stick. I had just gone
out into the hall to look into the street to see if the guests were arriving when their carriage drew up. I therefore saw
all that happened as they descended. Victor, well muffled up and appearing still very weak, began to walk to the door leaning
on Hugo's arm. It was then that Gilmore, seeing three people intending to enter the house, straightened up and stood beside
the door to allow them through. As they walked past him into the hall Gilmore glanced at Victor, whose scarf was half pulled
up over his face, then peered at him searching. To the astonishment of all of us, he cried out harshly, “Frankenstein!” and
raced in a state of obvious fear down the steps of the house and out into the street. I heard him cry out again from the street,
as he went running off, “Frankenstein!”
Mrs. Downey, who had come to the parlor door to
S E V E N
VICTOR LAY ILL for many days. I insisted I must summon his parents from Switzerland, but this he would not allow. When I pressed
him to ask them to come, he became agitated, so I assumed temporary responsibility for his health for a time. My first thought
was to persuade him to leave that house in which his wife and child had been slain. I even wondered if the murderer would
return to strike again, for it was very obscure what the man's motive had been in killing an innocent woman and child, and
I had become doubtful whether the matter could be as simple as a thief interrupted and killing those who might identify him.
Victor, though, refused to remove to Mrs. Downey's, who had sympathetically agreed to assist a man she did not know. He was
so insistent about staying where he was that I yielded, thinking more argument would impede his recovery and instead hired,
as well as nurses for Victor, two sturdy watchmen to protect him.
For the first week he lay in a raging fever, but later improved, at which point I felt it safe to ask him who he thought the
man in the garden might have been and whether he thought he had any part in the murders. But he only replied, “I cannot tell
you. To tell you anything would mean telling you everything and that I cannot do—cannot.” And with that he turned his wasted
face from me on the pillow.
“Victor,” I persisted, “tell me, I implore you. Describe the man. Say what he is to you.”
He turned a tear-stained face to me and whispered, “Jonathan—please leave me.” And I was forced to go, though I could not
believe that with such a weight as seemed to be pressing on his mind, my friend's recovery could be either quick or complete.
Meanwhile, Hugo and Lucy Feltham, who had heard of the death of Elizabeth Frankenstein and her son, arrived in London to stay
with Victor and do what they could for him. Slowly he recovered his health.
E I G H T
IT WAS AT THIS TIME that Mrs. Downey's sister Mrs. Alice Frazer arrived from Scotland. Mrs. Frazer did not generally travel
with her husband since they had one of those comfortable marriages whose happiness depends to some extent on the couple spending
considerable portions of their time apart. Therefore she always brought with her on the long journey south a stout young man,
twenty years of age, Donald Gilmore by name, who protected her while traveling and accompanied her about London when she wished
to go out alone. However, once in town there was little for Gilmore to do, so the custom was that, since he was a skilful
man especially as regards carpentry, Mrs. Downey would set him to repairing her house where repairs were needed.
Some two weeks after the murders, an afternoon was dictated by Mrs. Feltham to be Victor's first excursion into the outside
world since his illness. Therefore a party consisting of Victor and Hugo and Lucy Feltham arrived at the front door in Gray's
Inn Road. Young Gilmore was at the open door, in the act of filing off the bottom, for it had begun to stick. I had just gone
out into the hall to look into the street to see if the guests were arriving when their carriage drew up. I therefore saw
all that happened as they descended. Victor, well muffled up and appearing still very weak, began to walk to the door leaning
on Hugo's arm. It was then that Gilmore, seeing three people intending to enter the house, straightened up and stood beside
the door to allow them through. As they walked past him into the hall Gilmore glanced at Victor, whose scarf was half pulled
up over his face, then peered at him searching. To the astonishment of all of us, he cried out harshly, “Frankenstein!” and
raced in a state of obvious fear down the steps of the house and out into the street. I heard him cry out again from the street,
as he went running off, “Frankenstein!”
Mrs. Downey, who had come to the parlor door to
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