him than his own limbs and frame, which had hardly been taught the lesson

of self-preservation, the kind companion whose voice always spoke peace to

him, closed her eyes in death. The old man felt the system of universal

nature which he had so long studied and adored, slide from under him, and

he stood among the dead, and lifted his voice in curses.--No wonder that

the attendant should interpret as phrensy the harrowing maledictions of the

grief-struck old man.

I had commenced my search late in the day, a November day, that closed in

early with pattering rain and melancholy wind. As I turned from the door, I

saw Merrival, or rather the shadow of Merrival, attenuated and wild, pass

me, and sit on the steps of his home. The breeze scattered the grey locks

on his temples, the rain drenched his uncovered head, he sat hiding his

face in his withered hands. I pressed his shoulder to awaken his attention,

but he did not alter his position. "Merrival," I said, "it is long since we

have seen you--you must return to Windsor with me--Lady Idris desires

to see you, you will not refuse her request--come home with me."

He replied in a hollow voice, "Why deceive a helpless old man, why talk

hypocritically to one half crazed? Windsor is not my home; my true home I

have found; the home that the Creator has prepared for me."

His accent of bitter scorn thrilled me--"Do not tempt me to speak," he

continued, "my words would scare you--in an universe of cowards I dare

think--among the church-yard tombs--among the victims of His merciless

tyranny I dare reproach the Supreme Evil. How can he punish me? Let him

401

The Last Man