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Page 483 of 483

Author: Mary Shelley

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"But soon," he cried with sad and solemn enthusiasm, "I shall
die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning
miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile
triumphantly and exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The
light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will be
swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit will sleep in peace,
or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. Farewell."
He sprang from the cabin-window as he said this, upon the ice
raft which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the
waves and lost in darkness and distance.

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