The Hunting of the Man.

           Itcamebeforemymindwithanunreasonablehopeofescapethattheouterdoorofmyroomwasstillopentome.Iwasconvincednow,absolutelyassured,thatMoreauhadbeenvivisectingahumanbeing.AllthetimesinceIhadheardhisname,Ihadbeentryingtolinkinmymindinsomewaythegrotesqueanimalismoftheislanderswithhisabominations;andnowIthoughtIsawitall.Thememoryofhisworkonthetransfusionofbloodrecurredtome.ThesecreaturesIhadseenwerethevictimsofsomehideousexperiment.Thesesickeningscoundrelshadmerelyintendedtokeepmeback,tofoolmewiththeirdisplayofconfidence,andpresentlytofalluponmewithafatemorehorriblethandeath,—withtorture;andaftertorturethemosthideousdegradationitispossibletoconceive,—tosendmeoffalostsoul,abeast,totherestoftheirComusrout.

           Ilookedroundforsomeweapon.Nothing.ThenwithaninspirationIturnedoverthedeckchair,putmyfootonthesideofit,andtoreawaythesiderail.Ithappenedthatanailcameawaywiththewood,andprojecting,gaveatouchofdangertoanotherwisepettyweapon.Iheardastepoutside,andincontinentlyflungopenthedoorandfoundMontgomerywithinayardofit.Hemeanttolocktheouterdoor!Iraisedthisnailedstickofmineandcutathisface;buthesprangback.Ihesitatedamoment,thenturnedandfled,roundthecornerofthehouse.