Guilt As Depicted In Mary Shelley's Frankenstein

The trail upon which I found myself was overgrown with foliage, hampering my process through the dark, infected woods. As I rounded what appeared to be the final bend, a large ominous clearing yawned before me. I came to an abrupt halt and was cautiously astonished to hear the insistently loud crying of an abandoned baby. Imagine my surprise when my feet moved of their own accord, drawing me closer and closer to the forlorn whimpering to which the cries had died down to. Though my mind was in a feverish state, a clear part of the cerebrum remembered something bad, something so horrible indeed, that I feared to imagine it; lest I should drown in the murky depths of guilt.
What was this thing that threatened to ruin me? I pondered absentmindedly

“You must be hungry at this late hour. Let me retrieve some food.” Immediately, as if by smart understanding, the baby stopped crying, occasionally letting through a mellifluous sound for her compassionate big sister. I regarded the empty cupboards. Unfortunately for me, my family had not gotten supplies that week. Contemplating my choices, I finally had a rare stroke of inspiration. Why not let digesting the food be the finale of my dear Victoria’s life? Sighing contentedly, I adopted a caring disposition and said to Victoria, “My dear, I will have your food in a minute.” Upon saying, I seized my long overcoat for rain pattered on the windows knocking with its icy fingers, demanding passage. Turning back once to observe Victoria for a final scrutiny before her death, I fled down to the gardens, not caring if any foolish noblemen were out to perceive me. Once there among the withering chrysanthemums and calla lilies, I pried open several rocks and used one to smash the others into tiny fractals of their previous selves. I chose soft rocks so the noise would be limited. To this day, I commend myself on how nicely I split those.
Returning to the parlour, I held the palms with the pulpous rock out to Victoria. “Eat,” I urged