Having lost everyone he has ever loved, Victor determines to spend the rest of his life pursuing the creature. This is precisely what the creature himself wants: now, Frankenstein will be as wretched and bereft as he is. For some time, the creator pursues his creation; he had chased him as far as the Arctic Circle when Walton rescued him. Though he cautions the sea captain against excessive ambition and curiosity, he contradictorily encourages the sailors to continue on their doomed voyage, though it will mean certain death. His reason: for glory, and for human knowledge. Finally, he is no longer able to struggle against his illness, and dies peacefully in his sleep. At the moment of his death, the creature appears: he mourns all that he has done, but maintains that he could not have done otherwise, given the magnitude of his suffering. He then flees, vowing that he will build for himself a funeral pyre and throw his despised form upon the flames.
Walton's undertaking of this journey is a comment upon the larger society as well as upon his character: it is the outside world that is constantly urging its members to leap tall boundaries, that they might gain recognition and fame. Walton's values are definitely questionable. It does not seem that he really belongs on this mission, with so little experience, but he refuses to let this dream go. He is highly motivated and in his prime, a younger version of the weathered stranger, who had the same ideals at one point but has had to relinquish them. That Walton complains of not having peers to whom he can relate illustrates the most basic human need of companionship. Anything with an iota of humanness feels such a compulsion for friendship and emotional ties; anybody would be justified in going great lengths to find these things.