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. CHAPTER XXVIII--THE BREAKING OF THE STORM


When Lady Arabella had crept away in her usual noiseless fashion, the two
others remained for a while in their places on the turret roof: Caswall
because he had nothing to say, Mimi because she had much to say and
wished to put her thoughts in order. For quite a while--which seemed
interminable--silence reigned between them. At last Mimi made a
beginning--she had made up her mind how to act. "Mr. Caswall," she said loudly, so as to make sure of being heard through
the blustering of the wind and the perpetual cracking of the electricity. Caswall said something in reply, but his words were carried away on the
storm. However, one of her objects was effected: she knew now exactly
whereabout on the roof he was. So she moved close to the spot before she
spoke again, raising her voice almost to a shout. "The wicket is shut. Please to open it. I can't get out." As she spoke, she was quietly fingering a revolver which Adam had given
to her in case of emergency and which now lay in her breast. She felt
that she was caged like a rat in a trap, but did not mean to be taken at
a disadvantage, whatever happened. Caswall also felt trapped, and all
the brute in him rose to the emergency. In a voice which was raucous and
brutal--much like that which is heard when a wife is being beaten by her
husband in a slum--he hissed out, his syllables cutting through the
roaring of the storm:

"You came of your own accord--without permission, or even asking it. Now
you can stay or go as you choose. But you must manage it for yourself;
I'll have nothing to do with it." Her answer was spoken with dangerous suavity

"I am going. Blame yourself if you do not like the time and manner of
it. I daresay Adam--my husband--will have a word to say to you about
it!" "Let him say, and be damned to him, and to you too! I'll show you a
light. You shan't be able to say that you could not see what you were
doing."