CHAPTER XXVII--ON THE TURRET ROOF
The storm which was coming was already making itself manifest, not
only in the wide scope of nature, but in the hearts and natures of
human beings. Electrical disturbance in the sky and the air is
reproduced in animals of all kinds, and particularly in the highest
type of them all--the most receptive--the most electrical. So it
was with Edgar Caswall, despite his selfish nature and coldness of
blood. So it was with Mimi Salton, despite her unselfish,
unchanging devotion for those she loved. So it was even with Lady
Arabella, who, under the instincts of a primeval serpent, carried
the ever-varying wishes and customs of womanhood, which is always
old--and always new.
Edgar, after he had turned his eyes on Mimi, resumed his apathetic
position and sullen silence. Mimi quietly took a seat a little way
apart, whence she could look on the progress of the coming storm and
study its appearance throughout the whole visible circle of the
neighbourhood. She was in brighter and better spirits than she had
been for many days past. Lady Arabella tried to efface herself
behind the now open door.
Without, the clouds grew thicker and blacker as the storm-centre
came closer. As yet the forces, from whose linking the lightning
springs, were held apart, and the silence of nature proclaimed the
calm before the storm. Caswall felt the effect of the gathering
electric force. A sort of wild exultation grew upon him, such as he
had sometimes felt just before the breaking of a tropical storm. As
he became conscious of this, he raised his head and caught sight of
Mimi. He was in the grip of an emotion greater than himself; in the
mood in which he was he felt the need upon him of doing some
desperate deed. He was now absolutely reckless, and as Mimi was
associated with him in the memory which drove him on, he wished that
she too should be engaged in this enterprise. He had no knowledge
of the proximity of Lady Arabella, and thought that he was far
removed from all he knew and whose interests he shared--alone with
the wild elements, which were being lashed to fury, and with the
woman who had struggled with him and vanquished him, and on whom he
would shower the full measure of his hate.
The fact was that Edgar Caswall was, if not mad, close to the
border-line. Madness in its first stage--monomania--is a lack of
proportion. So long as this is general, it is not always
noticeable, for the uninspired onlooker is without the necessary
means of comparison. But in monomania the errant faculty protrudes
itself in a way that may not be denied. It puts aside, obscures, or
takes the place of something else--just as the head of a pin placed
before the centre of the iris will block out the whole scope of
vision. The most usual form of monomania has commonly the same
beginning as that from which Edgar Caswall suffered--an over-large
idea of self-importance. Alienists, who study the matter exactly,
probably know more of human vanity and its effects than do ordinary
men. Caswall's mental disturbance was not hard to identify. Every
asylum is full of such cases--men and women, who, naturally selfish
and egotistical, so appraise to themselves their own importance that
every other circumstance in life becomes subservient to it. The
disease supplies in itself the material for self-magnification.
When the decadence attacks a nature naturally proud and selfish and
vain, and lacking both the aptitude and habit of self-restraint, the
development of the disease is more swift, and ranges to farther
limits. It is such persons who become inbued with the idea that
they have the attributes of the Almighty--even that they themselves
are the Almighty.
Mimi had a suspicion--or rather, perhaps, an intuition--of the true
state of things when she heard him speak, and at the same time
noticed the abnormal flush on his face, and his rolling eyes. There
was a certain want of fixedness of purpose which she had certainly
not noticed before--a quick, spasmodic utterance which belongs
rather to the insane than to those of intellectual equilibrium. She
was a little frightened, not only by his thoughts, but by his
staccato way of expressing them.
Caswall moved to the door leading to the turret stair by which the
roof was reached, and spoke in a peremptory way, whose tone alone
made her feel defiant.
"Come! I want you."
She instinctively drew back--she was not accustomed to such words,
more especially to such a tone. Her answer was indicative of a new
contest.
"Why should I go? What for?"
He did not at once reply--another indication of his overwhelming
egotism. She repeated her questions; habit reasserted itself, and
he spoke without thinking the words which were in his heart.
"I want you, if you will be so good, to come with me to the turret
roof. I am much interested in certain experiments with the kite,
which would be, if not a pleasure, at least a novel experience to
you. You would see something not easily seen otherwise."
"I will come," she answered simply; Edgar moved in the direction of
the stair, she following close behind him.
She did not like to be left alone at such a height, in such a place,
in the darkness, with a storm about to break. Of himself she had no
fear; all that had been seemed to have passed away with her two
victories over him in the struggle of wills. Moreover, the more
recent apprehension--that of his madness--had also ceased. In the
conversation of the last few minutes he seemed so rational, so
clear, so unaggressive, that she no longer saw reason for doubt. So
satisfied was she that even when he put out a hand to guide her to
the steep, narrow stairway, she took it without thought in the most
conventional way.
Lady Arabella, crouching in the lobby behind the door, heard every
word that had been said, and formed her own opinion of it. It
seemed evident to her that there had been some rapprochement between
the two who had so lately been hostile to each other, and that made
her furiously angry. Mimi was interfering with her plans! She had
made certain of her capture of Edgar Caswall, and she could not
tolerate even the lightest and most contemptuous fancy on his part
which might divert him from the main issue. When she became aware
that he wished Mimi to come with him to the roof and that she had
acquiesced, her rage got beyond bounds. She became oblivious to any
danger there might be in a visit to such an exposed place at such a
time, and to all lesser considerations, and made up her mind to
forestall them. She stealthily and noiselessly crept through the
wicket, and, ascending the stair, stepped out on the roof. It was
bitterly cold, for the fierce gusts of the storm which swept round
the turret drove in through every unimpeded way, whistling at the
sharp corners and singing round the trembling flagstaff. The kite-
string and the wire which controlled the runners made a concourse of
weird sounds which somehow, perhaps from the violence which
surrounded them, acting on their length, resolved themselves into
some kind of harmony--a fitting accompaniment to the tragedy which
seemed about to begin.
Mimi's heart beat heavily. Just before leaving the turret-chamber
she had a shock which she could not shake off. The lights of the
room had momentarily revealed to her, as they passed out, Edgar's
face, concentrated as it was whenever he intended to use his
mesmeric power. Now the black eyebrows made a thick line across his
face, under which his eyes shone and glittered ominously. Mimi
recognised the danger, and assumed the defiant attitude that had
twice already served her so well. She had a fear that the
circumstances and the place were against her, and she wanted to be
forearmed.
The sky was now somewhat lighter than it had been. Either there was
lightning afar off, whose reflections were carried by the rolling
clouds, or else the gathered force, though not yet breaking into
lightning, had an incipient power of light. It seemed to affect
both the man and the woman. Edgar seemed altogether under its
influence. His spirits were boisterous, his mind exalted. He was
now at his worst; madder than he had been earlier in the night.
Mimi, trying to keep as far from him as possible, moved across the
stone floor of the turret roof, and found a niche which concealed
her. It was not far from Lady Arabella's place of hiding.
Edgar, left thus alone on the centre of the turret roof, found
himself altogether his own master in a way which tended to increase
his madness. He knew that Mimi was close at hand, though he had
lost sight of her. He spoke loudly, and the sound of his own voice,
though it was carried from him on the sweeping wind as fast as the
words were spoken, seemed to exalt him still more. Even the raging
of the elements round him appeared to add to his exaltation. To him
it seemed that these manifestations were obedient to his own will.
He had reached the sublime of his madness; he was now in his own
mind actually the Almighty, and whatever might happen would be the
direct carrying out of his own commands. As he could not see Mimi,
nor fix whereabout she was, he shouted loudly:
"Come to me! You shall see now what you are despising, what you are
warring against. All that you see is mine--the darkness as well as
the light. I tell you that I am greater than any other who is, or
was, or shall be. When the Master of Evil took Christ up on a high
place and showed Him all the kingdoms of the earth, he was doing
what he thought no other could do. He was wrong--he forgot ME. I
shall send you light, up to the very ramparts of heaven. A light so
great that it shall dissipate those black clouds that are rushing up
and piling around us. Look! Look! At the very touch of my hand
that light springs into being and mounts up--and up--and up!"
He made his way whilst he was speaking to the corner of the turret
whence flew the giant kite, and from which the runners ascended.
Mimi looked on, appalled and afraid to speak lest she should
precipitate some calamity. Within the niche Lady Arabella cowered
in a paroxysm of fear.
Edgar took up a small wooden box, through a hole in which the wire
of the runner ran. This evidently set some machinery in motion, for
a sound as of whirring came. From one side of the box floated what
looked like a piece of stiff ribbon, which snapped and crackled as
the wind took it. For a few seconds Mimi saw it as it rushed along
the sagging line to the kite. When close to it, there was a loud
crack, and a sudden light appeared to issue from every chink in the
box. Then a quick flame flashed along the snapping ribbon, which
glowed with an intense light--a light so great that the whole of the
countryside around stood out against the background of black driving
clouds. For a few seconds the light remained, then suddenly
disappeared in the blackness around. It was simply a magnesium
light, which had been fired by the mechanism within the box and
carried up to the kite. Edgar was in a state of tumultuous
excitement, shouting and yelling at the top of his voice and dancing
about like a lunatic.
This was more than Lady Arabella's curious dual nature could stand--
the ghoulish element in her rose triumphant, and she abandoned all
idea of marriage with Edgar Caswall, gloating fiendishly over the
thought of revenge.
She must lure him to the White Worm's hole--but how? She glanced
around and quickly made up her mind. The man's whole thoughts were
absorbed by his wonderful kite, which he was showing off, in order
to fascinate her imaginary rival, Mimi.
On the instant she glided through the darkness to the wheel whereon
the string of the kite was wound. With deft fingers she unshipped
this, took it with her, reeling out the wire as she went, thus
keeping, in a way, in touch with the kite. Then she glided swiftly
to the wicket, through which she passed, locking the gate behind her
as she went.
Down the turret stair she ran quickly, letting the wire run from the
wheel which she carried carefully, and, passing out of the hall
door, hurried down the avenue with all her speed. She soon reached
her own gate, ran down the avenue, and with her key opened the iron
door leading to the well-hole.
She felt well satisfied with herself. All her plans were maturing,
or had already matured. The Master of Castra Regis was within her
grasp. The woman whose interference she had feared, Lilla Watford,
was dead. Truly, all was well, and she felt that she might pause a
while and rest. She tore off her clothes, with feverish fingers,
and in full enjoyment of her natural freedom, stretched her slim
figure in animal delight. Then she lay down on the sofa--to await
her victim! Edgar Caswall's life blood would more than satisfy her
for some time to come.
