bare his arm and transfix me with lightning--this is also one of his

attributes"--and the old man laughed.

He rose, and I followed him through the rain to a neighbouring church-yard

--he threw himself on the wet earth. "Here they are," he cried, "beautiful

creatures--breathing, speaking, loving creatures. She who by day and

night cherished the age-worn lover of her youth--they, parts of my flesh,

my children--here they are: call them, scream their names through the

night; they will not answer!" He clung to the little heaps that marked the

graves. "I ask but one thing; I do not fear His hell, for I have it here; I

do not desire His heaven, let me but die and be laid beside them; let me

but, when I lie dead, feel my flesh as it moulders, mingle with theirs.

Promise," and he raised himself painfully, and seized my arm, "promise to

bury me with them."

"So God help me and mine as I promise," I replied, "on one condition:

return with me to Windsor."

To Windsor!" he cried with a shriek, "Never!--from this place I never go

-my bones, my flesh, I myself, are already buried here, and what you see

of me is corrupted clay like them. I will lie here, and cling here, till

rain, and hail, and lightning and storm, ruining on me, make me one in

substance with them below."

In a few words I must conclude this tragedy. I was obliged to leave London,

and Adrian undertook to watch over him; the task was soon fulfilled; age,

402

The Last Man