Chương Chương 27 · ON THE TURRET ROOF

. 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 imbued 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.