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The Lair of the White Worm

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Author Topic: The Lair of the White Worm  (Read 1777 times)
Carolyn Silver
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Posts: 4611

« Reply #15 on: September 15, 2007, 12:43:26 am »


Those who had seen Edgar Caswall familiarly since his arrival, and had already estimated his cold-blooded nature at something of its true value, were surprised that he took so to heart the death of old Chester.  The fact was that not one of them had guessed correctly at his character.  They thought, naturally enough, that the concern which he felt was that of a master for a faithful old servant of his family.  They little thought that it was merely the selfish expression of his disappointment, that he had thus lost the only remaining clue to an interesting piece of family history—one which was now and would be for ever wrapped in mystery.  Caswall knew enough about the life of his ancestor in Paris to wish to know more fully and more thoroughly all that had been.  The period covered by that ancestor’s life in Paris was one inviting every form of curiosity.

Lady Arabella, who had her own game to play, saw in the métier of sympathetic friend, a series of meetings with the man she wanted to secure.  She made the first use of the opportunity the day after old Chester’s death; indeed, as soon as the news had filtered in through the back door of Diana’s Grove.  At that meeting, she played her part so well that even Caswall’s cold nature was impressed.

Oolanga was the only one who did not credit her with at least some sense of fine feeling in the matter.  In emotional, as in other matters, Oolanga was distinctly a utilitarian, and as he could not understand anyone feeling grief except for his own suffering, pain, or for the loss of money, he could not understand anyone simulating such an emotion except for show intended to deceive.  He thought that she had come to Castra Regis again for the opportunity of stealing something, and was determined that on this occasion the chance of pressing his advantage over her should not pass.  He felt, therefore, that the occasion was one for extra carefulness in the watching of all that went on.  Ever since he had come to the conclusion that Lady Arabella was trying to steal the treasure-chest, he suspected nearly everyone of the same design, and made it a point to watch all suspicious persons and places.  As Adam was engaged on his own researches regarding Lady Arabella, it was only natural that there should be some crossing of each other’s tracks.  This is what did actually happen.

Adam had gone for an early morning survey of the place in which he was interested, taking with him the mongoose in its box.  He arrived at the gate of Diana’s Grove just as Lady Arabella was preparing to set out for Castra Regis on what she considered her mission of comfort.  Seeing Adam from her window going through the shadows of the trees round the gate, she thought that he must be engaged on some purpose similar to her own.  So, quickly making her toilet, she quietly left the house, and, taking advantage of every shadow and substance which could hide her, followed him on his walk.

Oolanga, the experienced tracker, followed her, but succeeded in hiding his movements better than she did.  He saw that Adam had on his shoulder a mysterious box, which he took to contain something valuable.  Seeing that Lady Arabella was secretly following Adam, he was confirmed in this idea.  His mind—such as it was—was fixed on her trying to steal, and he credited her at once with making use of this new opportunity.

In his walk, Adam went into the grounds of Castra Regis, and Oolanga saw her follow him with great secrecy.  He feared to go closer, as now on both sides of him were enemies who might make discovery.  When he realised that Lady Arabella was bound for the Castle, he devoted himself to following her with singleness of purpose.  He therefore missed seeing that Adam branched off the track and returned to the high road.

That night Edgar Caswall had slept badly.  The tragic occurrence of the day was on his mind, and he kept waking and thinking of it.  After an early breakfast, he sat at the open window watching the kite and thinking of many things.  From his room he could see all round the neighbourhood, but the two places that interested him most were Mercy Farm and Diana’s Grove.  At first the movements about those spots were of a humble kind—those that belong to domestic service or agricultural needs—the opening of doors and windows, the sweeping and brushing, and generally the restoration of habitual order.

From his high window—whose height made it a screen from the observation of others—he saw the chain of watchers move into his own grounds, and then presently break up—Adam Salton going one way, and Lady Arabella, followed by the ****, another.  Then Oolanga disappeared amongst the trees; but Caswall could see that he was still watching.  Lady Arabella, after looking around her, slipped in by the open door, and he could, of course, see her no longer.

Presently, however, he heard a light tap at his door, then the door opened slowly, and he could see the flash of Lady Arabella’s white dress through the opening.

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #16 on: September 15, 2007, 12:44:14 am »


Caswall was genuinely surprised when he saw Lady Arabella, though he need not have been, after what had already occurred in the same way.  The look of surprise on his face was so much greater than Lady Arabella had expected—though she thought she was prepared to meet anything that might occur—that she stood still, in sheer amazement.  Cold-blooded as she was and ready for all social emergencies, she was nonplussed how to go on.  She was plucky, however, and began to speak at once, although she had not the slightest idea what she was going to say.

“I came to offer you my very warm sympathy with the grief you have so lately experienced.”

“My grief?  I’m afraid I must be very dull; but I really do not understand.”

Already she felt at a disadvantage, and hesitated.

“I mean about the old man who died so suddenly—your old . . . retainer.”

Caswall’s face relaxed something of its puzzled concentration.

“Oh, he was only a servant; and he had over-stayed his three-score and ten years by something like twenty years.  He must have been ninety!”

“Still, as an old servant . . . ”

Caswall’s words were not so cold as their inflection.

“I never interfere with servants.  He was kept on here merely because he had been so long on the premises.  I suppose the steward thought it might make him unpopular if the old fellow had been dismissed.”

How on earth was she to proceed on such a task as hers if this was the utmost geniality she could expect?  So she at once tried another tack—this time a personal one.

“I am sorry I disturbed you.  I am really not unconventional—though certainly no slave to convention.  Still there are limits . . . it is bad enough to intrude in this way, and I do not know what you can say or think of the time selected, for the intrusion.”

After all, Edgar Caswall was a gentleman by custom and habit, so he rose to the occasion.

“I can only say, Lady Arabella, that you are always welcome at any time you may deign to honour my house with your presence.”

She smiled at him sweetly.

“Thank you so much.  You do put one at ease.  My breach of convention makes me glad rather than sorry.  I feel that I can open my heart to you about anything.”

Forthwith she proceeded to tell him about Oolanga and his strange suspicions of her honesty.  Caswall laughed and made her explain all the details.  His final comment was enlightening.

“Let me give you a word of advice: If you have the slightest fault to find with that infernal ****, shoot him at sight.  A swelled-headed ****, with a bee in his bonnet, is one of the worst difficulties in the world to deal with.  So better make a clean job of it, and wipe him out at once!”

“But what about the law, Mr. Caswall?”

“Oh, the law doesn’t concern itself much about dead niggers.  A few more or less do not matter.  To my mind it’s rather a relief!”

“I’m afraid of you,” was her only comment, made with a sweet smile and in a soft voice.

“All right,” he said, “let us leave it at that.  Anyhow, we shall be rid of one of them!”

“I don’t love niggers any more than you do,” she replied, “and I suppose one mustn’t be too particular where that sort of cleaning up is concerned.”  Then she changed in voice and manner, and asked genially: “And now tell me, am I forgiven?”

“You are, dear lady—if there is anything to forgive.”

As he spoke, seeing that she had moved to go, he came to the door with her, and in the most natural way accompanied her downstairs.  He passed through the hall with her and down the avenue.  As he went back to the house, she smiled to herself.

“Well, that is all right.  I don’t think the morning has been altogether thrown away.”

And she walked slowly back to Diana’s Grove.

Adam Salton followed the line of the Brow, and refreshed his memory as to the various localities.  He got home to Lesser Hill just as Sir Nathaniel was beginning lunch.  Mr. Salton had gone to Walsall to keep an early appointment; so he was all alone.  When the meal was over—seeing in Adam’s face that he had something to speak about—he followed into the study and shut the door.

When the two men had lighted their pipes, Sir Nathaniel began.

“I have remembered an interesting fact about Diana’s Grove—there is, I have long understood, some strange mystery about that house.  It may be of some interest, or it may be trivial, in such a tangled skein as we are trying to unravel.”

“Please tell me all you know’ or suspect.  To begin, then, of what sort is the mystery—physical, mental, moral, historical, scientific, occult?  Any kind of hint will help me.”

“Quite right.  I shall try to tell you what I think; but I have not put my thoughts on the subject in sequence, so you must forgive me if due order is not observed in my narration.  I suppose you have seen the house at Diana’s Grove?”

“The outside of it; but I have that in my mind’s eye, and I can fit into my memory whatever you may mention.”

“The house is very old—probably the first house of some sort that stood there was in the time of the Romans.  This was probably renewed—perhaps several times at later periods.  The house stands, or, rather, used to stand here when Mercia was a kingdom—I do not suppose that the basement can be later than the Norman Conquest.  Some years ago, when I was President of the Mercian Archaeological Society, I went all over it very carefully.  This was when it was purchased by Captain March.  The house had then been done up, so as to be suitable for the bride.  The basement is very strong,—almost as strong and as heavy as if it had been intended as a fortress.  There are a whole series of rooms deep underground.  One of them in particular struck me.  The room itself is of considerable size, but the masonry is more than massive.  In the middle of the room is a sunk well, built up to floor level and evidently going deep underground.  There is no windlass nor any trace of there ever having been any—no rope—nothing.  Now, we know that the Romans had wells of immense depth, from which the water was lifted by the ‘old rag rope’; that at Woodhull used to be nearly a thousand feet.  Here, then, we have simply an enormously deep well-hole.  The door of the room was massive, and was fastened with a lock nearly a foot square.  It was evidently intended for some kind of protection to someone or something; but no one in those days had ever heard of anyone having been allowed even to see the room.  All this is à propos of a suggestion on my part that the well-hole was a way by which the White Worm (whatever it was) went and came.  At that time I would have had a search made—even excavation if necessary—at my own expense, but all suggestions were met with a prompt and explicit negative.  So, of course, I took no further step in the matter.  Then it died out of recollection—even of mine.”

“Do you remember, sir,” asked Adam, “what was the appearance of the room where the well-hole was?  Was there furniture—in fact, any sort of thing in the room?”

“The only thing I remember was a sort of green light—very clouded, very dim—which came up from the well.  Not a fixed light, but intermittent and irregular—quite unlike anything I had ever seen.”

“Do you remember how you got into the well-room?  Was there a separate door from outside, or was there any interior room or passage which opened into it?”

“I think there must have been some room with a way into it.  I remember going up some steep steps; they must have been worn smooth by long use or something of the kind, for I could hardly keep my feet as I went up.  Once I stumbled and nearly fell into the well-hole.”

“Was there anything strange about the place—any queer smell, for instance?”

“Queer smell—yes!  Like bilge or a rank swamp.  It was distinctly nauseating; when I came out I felt as if I had just been going to be sick.  I shall try back on my visit and see if I can recall any more of what I saw or felt.”

“Then perhaps, sir, later in the day you will tell me anything you may chance to recollect.”

“I shall be delighted, Adam.  If your uncle has not returned by then, I’ll join you in the study after dinner, and we can resume this interesting chat.”

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #17 on: September 15, 2007, 12:45:17 am »


That afternoon Adam decided to do a little exploring.  As he passed through the wood outside the gate of Diana’s Grove, he thought he saw the African’s face for an instant.  So he went deeper into the undergrowth, and followed along parallel to the avenue to the house.  He was glad that there was no workman or servant about, for he did not care that any of Lady Arabella’s people should find him wandering about her grounds.  Taking advantage of the denseness of the trees, he came close to the house and skirted round it.  He was repaid for his trouble, for on the far side of the house, close to where the rocky frontage of the cliff fell away, he saw Oolanga crouched behind the irregular trunk of a great oak.  The man was so intent on watching someone, or something, that he did not guard against being himself watched.  This suited Adam, for he could thus make scrutiny at will.

The thick wood, though the trees were mostly of small girth, threw a heavy shadow, so that the steep declension, in front of which grew the tree behind which the African lurked, was almost in darkness.  Adam drew as close as he could, and was amazed to see a patch of light on the ground before him; when he realised what it was, he was determined, more than ever to follow on his quest.  The **** had a dark lantern in his hand, and was throwing the light down the steep incline.  The glare showed a series of stone steps, which ended in a low-lying heavy iron door fixed against the side of the house.  All the strange things he had heard from Sir Nathaniel, and all those, little and big, which he had himself noticed, crowded into his mind in a chaotic way.  Instinctively he took refuge behind a thick oak stem, and set himself down, to watch what might occur.

After a short time it became apparent that the African was trying to find out what was behind the heavy door.  There was no way of looking in, for the door fitted tight into the massive stone slabs.  The only opportunity for the entrance of light was through a small hole between the great stones above the door.  This hole was too high up to look through from the ground level.  Oolanga, having tried standing tiptoe on the highest point near, and holding the lantern as high as he could, threw the light round the edges of the door to see if he could find anywhere a hole or a flaw in the metal through which he could obtain a glimpse.  Foiled in this, he brought from the shrubbery a plank, which he leant against the top of the door and then climbed up with great dexterity.  This did not bring him near enough to the window-hole to look in, or even to throw the light of the lantern through it, so he climbed down and carried the plank back to the place from which he had got it.  Then he concealed himself near the iron door and waited, manifestly with the intent of remaining there till someone came near.  Presently Lady Arabella, moving noiselessly through the shade, approached the door.  When he saw her close enough to touch it, Oolanga stepped forward from his concealment, and spoke in a whisper, which through the gloom sounded like a hiss.

“I want to see you, missy—soon and secret.”

“What do you want?”

“You know well, missy; I told you already.”

She turned on him with blazing eyes, the green tint in them glowing like emeralds.

“Come, none of that.  If there is anything sensible which you wish to say to me, you can see me here, just where we are, at seven o’clock.”

He made no reply in words, but, putting the backs of his hands together, bent lower and lower till his forehead touched the earth.  Then he rose and went slowly away.

Adam Salton, from his hiding-place, saw and wondered.  In a few minutes he moved from his place and went home to Lesser Hill, fully determined that seven o’clock would find him in some hidden place behind Diana’s Grove.

At a little before seven Adam stole softly out of the house and took the back-way to the rear of Diana’s Grove.  The place seemed silent and deserted, so he took the opportunity of concealing himself near the spot whence he had seen Oolanga trying to investigate whatever was concealed behind the iron door.  He waited, perfectly still, and at last saw a gleam of white passing soundlessly through the undergrowth.  He was not surprised when he recognised the colour of Lady Arabella’s dress.  She came close and waited, with her face to the iron door.  From some place of concealment near at hand Oolanga appeared, and came close to her.  Adam noticed, with surprised amusement, that over his shoulder was the box with the mongoose.  Of course the African did not know that he was seen by anyone, least of all by the man whose property he had with him.

Silent-footed as he was, Lady Arabella heard him coming, and turned to meet him.  It was somewhat hard to see in the gloom, for, as usual, he was all in black, only his collar and cuffs showing white.  Lady Arabella opened the conversation which ensued between the two.

“What do you want?  To rob me, or murder me?”

“No, to lub you!”

This frightened her a little, and she tried to change the tone.

“Is that a coffin you have with you?  If so, you are wasting your time.  It would not hold me.”

When a **** suspects he is being laughed at, all the ferocity of his nature comes to the front; and this man was of the lowest kind.

“Dis ain’t no coffin for nobody.  Dis box is for you.  Somefin you lub.  Me give him to you!”

Still anxious to keep off the subject of affection, on which she believed him to have become crazed, she made another effort to keep his mind elsewhere.

“Is this why you want to see me?”  He nodded.  “Then come round to the other door.  But be quiet.  I have no desire to be seen so close to my own house in conversation with a—a—a **** like you!”

She had chosen the word deliberately.  She wished to meet his passion with another kind.  Such would, at all events, help to keep him quiet.  In the deep gloom she could not see the anger which suffused his face.  Rolling eyeballs and grinding teeth are, however, sufficient signs of anger to be decipherable in the dark.  She moved round the corner of the house to her right.  Oolanga was following her, when she stopped him by raising her hand.

“No, not that door,” she said; “that is not for niggers.  The other door will do well enough for you!”

Lady Arabella took in her hand a small key which hung at the end of her watch-chain, and moved to a small door, low down, round the corner, and a little downhill from the edge of the Brow.  Oolanga, in obedience to her gesture, went back to the iron door.  Adam looked carefully at the mongoose box as the African went by, and was glad to see that it was intact.  Unconsciously, as he looked, he fingered the key that was in his waistcoat pocket.  When Oolanga was out of sight, Adam hurried after Lady Arabella.

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #18 on: September 15, 2007, 12:46:10 am »


The woman turned sharply as Adam touched her shoulder.

“One moment whilst we are alone.  You had better not trust that ****!” he whispered.

Her answer was crisp and concise:

“I don’t.”

“Forewarned is forearmed.  Tell me if you will—it is for your own protection.  Why do you mistrust him?”

“My friend, you have no idea of that man’s impudence.  Would you believe that he wants me to marry him?”

“No!” said Adam incredulously, amused in spite of himself.

“Yes, and wanted to bribe me to do it by sharing a chest of treasure—at least, he thought it was—stolen from Mr. Caswall.  Why do you distrust him, Mr. Salton?”

“Did you notice that box he had slung on his shoulder?  That belongs to me.  I left it in the gun-room when I went to lunch.  He must have crept in and stolen it.  Doubtless he thinks that it, too, is full of treasure.”

“He does!”

“How on earth do you know?” asked Adam.

“A little while ago he offered to give it to me—another bribe to accept him.  Faugh!  I am ashamed to tell you such a thing.  The beast!”

Whilst they had been speaking, she had opened the door, a narrow iron one, well hung, for it opened easily and closed tightly without any creaking or sound of any kind.  Within all was dark; but she entered as freely and with as little misgiving or restraint as if it had been broad daylight.  For Adam, there was just sufficient green light from somewhere for him to see that there was a broad flight of heavy stone steps leading upward; but Lady Arabella, after shutting the door behind her, when it closed tightly without a clang, tripped up the steps lightly and swiftly.  For an instant all was dark, but there came again the faint green light which enabled him to see the outlines of things.  Another iron door, narrow like the first and fairly high, led into another large room, the walls of which were of massive stones, so closely joined together as to exhibit only one smooth surface.  This presented the appearance of having at one time been polished.  On the far side, also smooth like the walls, was the reverse of a wide, but not high, iron door.  Here there was a little more light, for the high-up aperture over the door opened to the air.

Lady Arabella took from her girdle another small key, which she inserted in a keyhole in the centre of a massive lock.  The great bolt seemed wonderfully hung, for the moment the small key was turned, the bolts of the great lock moved noiselessly and the iron doors swung open.  On the stone steps outside stood Oolanga, with the mongoose box slung over his shoulder.  Lady Arabella stood a little on one side, and the African, accepting the movement as an invitation, entered in an obsequious way.  The moment, however, that he was inside, he gave a quick look around him.

“Much death here—big death.  Many deaths.  Good, good!”

He sniffed round as if he was enjoying the scent.  The matter and manner of his speech were so revolting that instinctively Adam’s hand wandered to his revolver, and, with his finger on the trigger, he rested satisfied that he was ready for any emergency.

There was certainly opportunity for the ****’s enjoyment, for the open well-hole was almost under his nose, sending up such a stench as almost made Adam sick, though Lady Arabella seemed not to mind it at all.  It was like nothing that Adam had ever met with.  He compared it with all the noxious experiences he had ever had—the drainage of war hospitals, of slaughter-houses, the refuse of dissecting rooms.  None of these was like it, though it had something of them all, with, added, the sourness of chemical waste and the poisonous effluvium of the bilge of a water-logged ship whereon a multitude of rats had been drowned.

Then, quite unexpectedly, the negro noticed the presence of a third person—Adam Salton!  He pulled out a pistol and shot at him, happily missing.  Adam was himself usually a quick shot, but this time his mind had been on something else and he was not ready.  However, he was quick to carry out an intention, and he was not a coward.  In another moment both men were in grips.  Beside them was the dark well-hole, with that horrid effluvium stealing up from its mysterious depths.

Adam and Oolanga both had pistols; Lady Arabella, who had not one, was probably the most ready of them all in the theory of shooting, but that being impossible, she made her effort in another way.  Gliding forward, she tried to seize the African; but he eluded her grasp, just missing, in doing so, falling into the mysterious hole.  As he swayed back to firm foothold, he turned his own gun on her and shot.  Instinctively Adam leaped at his assailant; clutching at each other, they tottered on the very brink.

Lady Arabella’s anger, now fully awake, was all for Oolanga.  She moved towards him with her hands extended, and had just seized him when the catch of the locked box—due to some movement from within—flew open, and the king-cobra-killer flew at her with a venomous fury impossible to describe.  As it seized her throat, she caught hold of it, and, with a fury superior to its own, tore it in two just as if it had been a sheet of paper.  The strength used for such an act must have been terrific.  In an instant, it seemed to spout blood and entrails, and was hurled into the well-hole.  In another instant she had seized Oolanga, and with a swift rush had drawn him, her white arms encircling him, down with her into the gaping aperture.

Adam saw a medley of green and red lights blaze in a whirling circle, and as it sank down into the well, a pair of blazing green eyes became fixed, sank lower and lower with frightful rapidity, and disappeared, throwing upward the green light which grew more and more vivid every moment.  As the light sank into the noisome depths, there came a shriek which chilled Adam’s blood—a prolonged agony of pain and terror which seemed to have no end.

Adam Salton felt that he would never be able to free his mind from the memory of those dreadful moments.  The gloom which surrounded that horrible charnel pit, which seemed to go down to the very bowels of the earth, conveyed from far down the sights and sounds of the nethermost hell.  The ghastly fate of the African as he sank down to his terrible doom, his black face growing grey with terror, his white eyeballs, now like veined bloodstone, rolling in the helpless extremity of fear.  The mysterious green light was in itself a milieu of horror.  And through it all the awful cry came up from that fathomless pit, whose entrance was flooded with spots of fresh blood.  Even the death of the fearless little snake-killer—so fierce, so frightful, as if stained with a ferocity which told of no living force above earth, but only of the devils of the pit—was only an incident.  Adam was in a state of intellectual tumult, which had no parallel in his experience.  He tried to rush away from the horrible place; even the baleful green light, thrown up through the gloomy well-shaft, was dying away as its source sank deeper into the primeval ooze.  The darkness was closing in on him in overwhelming density—darkness in such a place and with such a memory of it!

He made a wild rush forward—slipt on the steps in some sticky, acrid-smelling mass that felt and smelt like blood, and, falling forward, felt his way into the inner room, where the well-shaft was not.

Then he rubbed his eyes in sheer amazement.  Up the stone steps from the narrow door by which he had entered, glided the white-clad figure of Lady Arabella, the only colour to be seen on her being blood-marks on her face and hands and throat.  Otherwise, she was calm and unruffled, as when earlier she stood aside for him to pass in through the narrow iron door.

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #19 on: September 15, 2007, 12:46:56 am »


Adam Salton went for a walk before returning to Lesser Hill; he felt that it might be well, not only to steady his nerves, shaken by the horrible scene, but to get his thoughts into some sort of order, so as to be ready to enter on the matter with Sir Nathaniel.  He was a little embarrassed as to telling his uncle, for affairs had so vastly progressed beyond his original view that he felt a little doubtful as to what would be the old gentleman’s attitude when he should hear of the strange events for the first time.  Mr. Salton would certainly not be satisfied at being treated as an outsider with regard to such things, most of which had points of contact with the inmates of his own house.  It was with an immense sense of relief that Adam heard that his uncle had telegraphed to the housekeeper that he was detained by business at Walsall, where he would remain for the night; and that he would be back in the morning in time for lunch.

When Adam got home after his walk, he found Sir Nathaniel just going to bed.  He did not say anything to him then of what had happened, but contented himself with arranging that they would walk together in the early morning, as he had much to say that would require serious attention.

Strangely enough he slept well, and awoke at dawn with his mind clear and his nerves in their usual unshaken condition.  The maid brought up, with his early morning cup of tea, a note which had been found in the letter-box.  It was from Lady Arabella, and was evidently intended to put him on his guard as to what he should say about the previous evening.

He read it over carefully several times, before he was satisfied that he had taken in its full import.


“I cannot go to bed until I have written to you, so you must forgive me if I disturb you, and at an unseemly time.  Indeed, you must also forgive me if, in trying to do what is right, I err in saying too much or too little.  The fact is that I am quite upset and unnerved by all that has happened in this terrible night.  I find it difficult even to write; my hands shake so that they are not under control, and I am trembling all over with memory of the horrors we saw enacted before our eyes.  I am grieved beyond measure that I should be, however remotely, a cause of this horror coming on you.  Forgive me if you can, and do not think too hardly of me.  This I ask with confidence, for since we shared together the danger—the very pangs—of death, I feel that we should be to one another something more than mere friends, that I may lean on you and trust you, assured that your sympathy and pity are for me.  You really must let me thank you for the friendliness, the help, the confidence, the real aid at a time of deadly danger and deadly fear which you showed me.  That awful man—I shall see him for ever in my dreams.  His black, malignant face will shut out all memory of sunshine and happiness.  I shall eternally see his evil eyes as he threw himself into that well-hole in a vain effort to escape from the consequences of his own misdoing.  The more I think of it, the more apparent it seems to me that he had premeditated the whole thing—of course, except his own horrible death.

“Perhaps you have noticed a fur collar I occasionally wear.  It is one of my most valued treasures—an ermine collar studded with emeralds.  I had often seen the ****’s eyes gleam covetously when he looked at it.  Unhappily, I wore it yesterday.  That may have been the cause that lured the poor man to his doom.  On the very brink of the abyss he tore the collar from my neck—that was the last I saw of him.  When he sank into the hole, I was rushing to the iron door, which I pulled behind me.  When I heard that soul-sickening yell, which marked his disappearance in the chasm, I was more glad than I can say that my eyes were spared the pain and horror which my ears had to endure.

“When I tore myself out of the negro’s grasp as he sank into the well-hole; I realised what freedom meant.  Freedom!  Freedom!  Not only from that noisome prison-house, which has now such a memory, but from the more noisome embrace of that hideous monster.  Whilst I live, I shall always thank you for my freedom.  A woman must sometimes express her gratitude; otherwise it becomes too great to bear.  I am not a sentimental girl, who merely likes to thank a man; I am a woman who knows all, of bad as well as good, that life can give.  I have known what it is to love and to lose.  But you must not let me bring any unhappiness into your life.  I must live on—as I have lived—alone, and, in addition, bear with other woes the memory of this latest insult and horror.  In the meantime, I must get away as quickly as possible from Diana’s Grove.  In the morning I shall go up to town, where I shall remain for a week—I cannot stay longer, as business affairs demand my presence here.  I think, however, that a week in the rush of busy London, surrounded with multitudes of commonplace people, will help to soften—I cannot expect total obliteration—the terrible images of the bygone night.  When I can sleep easily—which will be, I hope, after a day or two—I shall be fit to return home and take up again the burden which will, I suppose, always be with me.

“I shall be most happy to see you on my return—or earlier, if my good fortune sends you on any errand to London.  I shall stay at the Mayfair Hotel.  In that busy spot we may forget some of the dangers and horrors we have shared together.  Adieu, and thank you, again and again, for all your kindness and consideration to me.


Adam was surprised by this effusive epistle, but he determined to say nothing of it to Sir Nathaniel until he should have thought it well over.  When Adam met Sir Nathaniel at breakfast, he was glad that he had taken time to turn things over in his mind.  The result had been that not only was he familiar with the facts in all their bearings, but he had already so far differentiated them that he was able to arrange them in his own mind according to their values.  Breakfast had been a silent function, so it did not interfere in any way with the process of thought.

So soon as the door was closed, Sir Nathaniel began:

“I see, Adam, that something has occurred, and that you have much to tell me.”

“That is so, sir.  I suppose I had better begin by telling you all I know—all that has happened since I left you yesterday?”

Accordingly Adam gave him details of all that had happened during the previous evening.  He confined himself rigidly to the narration of circumstances, taking care not to colour events by any comment of his own, or any opinion of the meaning of things which he did not fully understand.  At first, Sir Nathaniel seemed disposed to ask questions, but shortly gave this up when he recognised that the narration was concise and self-explanatory.  Thenceforth, he contented himself with quick looks and glances, easily interpreted, or by some acquiescent motions of his hands, when such could be convenient, to emphasise his idea of the correctness of any inference.  Until Adam ceased speaking, having evidently come to an end of what he had to say with regard to this section of his story, the elder man made no comment whatever.  Even when Adam took from his pocket Lady Arabella’s letter, with the manifest intention of reading it, he did not make any comment.  Finally, when Adam folded up the letter and put it, in its envelope, back in his pocket, as an intimation that he had now quite finished, the old diplomatist carefully made a few notes in his pocket-book.

“Your narrative, my dear Adam, is altogether admirable.  I think I may now take it that we are both well versed in the actual facts, and that our conference had better take the shape of a mutual exchange of ideas.  Let us both ask questions as they may arise; and I do not doubt that we shall arrive at some enlightening conclusions.”

“Will you kindly begin, sir?  I do not doubt that, with your longer experience, you will be able to dissipate some of the fog which envelops certain of the things which we have to consider.”

“I hope so, my dear boy.  For a beginning, then, let me say that Lady Arabella’s letter makes clear some things which she intended—and also some things which she did not intend.  But, before I begin to draw deductions, let me ask you a few questions.  Adam, are you heart-whole, quite heart-whole, in the matter of Lady Arabella?”

His companion answered at once, each looking the other straight in the eyes during question and answer.

“Lady Arabella, sir, is a charming woman, and I should have deemed it a privilege to meet her—to talk to her—even—since I am in the confessional—to flirt a little with her.  But if you mean to ask if my affections are in any way engaged, I can emphatically answer ‘No!’—as indeed you will understand when presently I give you the reason.  Apart from that, there are the unpleasant details we discussed the other day.”

“Could you—would you mind giving me the reason now?  It will help us to understand what is before us, in the way of difficulty.”

“Certainly, sir.  My reason, on which I can fully depend, is that I love another woman!”

“That clinches it.  May I offer my good wishes, and, I hope, my congratulations?”

“I am proud of your good wishes, sir, and I thank you for them.  But it is too soon for congratulations—the lady does not even know my hopes yet.  Indeed, I hardly knew them myself, as definite, till this moment.”

“I take it then, Adam, that at the right time I may be allowed to know who the lady is?”

Adam laughed a low, sweet laugh, such as ripples from a happy heart.

“There need not be an hour’s, a minute’s delay.  I shall be glad to share my secret with you, sir.  The lady, sir, whom I am so happy as to love, and in whom my dreams of life-long happiness are centred, is Mimi Watford!”

“Then, my dear Adam, I need not wait to offer congratulations.  She is indeed a very charming young lady.  I do not think I ever saw a girl who united in such perfection the qualities of strength of character and sweetness of disposition.  With all my heart, I congratulate you.  Then I may take it that my question as to your heart-wholeness is answered in the affirmative?”

“Yes; and now, sir, may I ask in turn why the question?”

“Certainly!  I asked because it seems to me that we are coming to a point where my questions might be painful to you.”

“It is not merely that I love Mimi, but I have reason to look on Lady Arabella as her enemy,” Adam continued.

“Her enemy?”

“Yes.  A rank and unscrupulous enemy who is bent on her destruction.”

Sir Nathaniel went to the door, looked outside it and returned, locking it carefully behind him.

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #20 on: September 15, 2007, 12:48:15 am »


“Am I looking grave?” asked Sir Nathaniel inconsequently when he re-entered the room.

“You certainly are, sir.”

“We little thought when first we met that we should be drawn into such a vortex.  Already we are mixed up in robbery, and probably murder, but—a thousand times worse than all the crimes in the calendar—in an affair of ghastly mystery which has no bottom and no end—with forces of the most unnerving kind, which had their origin in an age when the world was different from the world which we know.  We are going back to the origin of superstition—to an age when dragons tore each other in their slime.  We must fear nothing—no conclusion, however improbable, almost impossible it may be.  Life and death is hanging on our judgment, not only for ourselves, but for others whom we love.  Remember, I count on you as I hope you count on me.”

“I do, with all confidence.”

“Then,” said Sir Nathaniel, “let us think justly and boldly and fear nothing, however terrifying it may seem.  I suppose I am to take as exact in every detail your account of all the strange things which happened whilst you were in Diana’s Grove?”

“So far as I know, yes.  Of course I may be mistaken in recollection of some detail or another, but I am certain that in the main what I have said is correct.”

“You feel sure that you saw Lady Arabella seize the negro round the neck, and drag him down with her into the hole?”

“Absolutely certain, sir, otherwise I should have gone to her assistance.”

“We have, then, an account of what happened from an eye-witness whom we trust—that is yourself.  We have also another account, written by Lady Arabella under her own hand.  These two accounts do not agree.  Therefore we must take it that one of the two is lying.”

“Apparently, sir.”

“And that Lady Arabella is the liar!”

“Apparently—as I am not.”

“We must, therefore, try to find a reason for her lying.  She has nothing to fear from Oolanga, who is dead.  Therefore the only reason which could actuate her would be to convince someone else that she was blameless.  This ‘someone’ could not be you, for you had the evidence of your own eyes.  There was no one else present; therefore it must have been an absent person.”

“That seems beyond dispute, sir.”

“There is only one other person whose good opinion she could wish to keep—Edgar Caswall.  He is the only one who fills the bill.  Her lies point to other things besides the death of the African.  She evidently wanted it to be accepted that his falling into the well was his own act.  I cannot suppose that she expected to convince you, the eye-witness; but if she wished later on to spread the story, it was wise of her to try to get your acceptance of it.”

“That is so!”

“Then there were other matters of untruth.  That, for instance, of the ermine collar embroidered with emeralds.  If an understandable reason be required for this, it would be to draw attention away from the green lights which were seen in the room, and especially in the well-hole.  Any unprejudiced person would accept the green lights to be the eyes of a great snake, such as tradition pointed to living in the well-hole.  In fine, therefore, Lady Arabella wanted the general belief to be that there was no snake of the kind in Diana’s Grove.  For my own part, I don’t believe in a partial liar—this art does not deal in veneer; a liar is a liar right through.  Self-interest may prompt falsity of the tongue; but if one prove to be a liar, nothing that he says can ever be believed.  This leads us to the conclusion that because she said or inferred that there was no snake, we should look for one—and expect to find it, too.

“Now let me digress.  I live, and have for many years lived, in Derbyshire, a county more celebrated for its caves than any other county in England.  I have been through them all, and am familiar with every turn of them; as also with other great caves in Kentucky, in France, in Germany, and a host of other places—in many of these are tremendously deep caves of narrow aperture, which are valued by intrepid explorers, who descend narrow gullets of abysmal depth—and sometimes never return.  In many of the caverns in the Peak I am convinced that some of the smaller passages were used in primeval times as the lairs of some of the great serpents of legend and tradition.  It may have been that such caverns were formed in the usual geologic way—bubbles or flaws in the earth’s crust—which were later used by the monsters of the period of the young world.  It may have been, of course, that some of them were worn originally by water; but in time they all found a use when suitable for living monsters.

“This brings us to another point, more difficult to accept and understand than any other requiring belief in a base not usually accepted, or indeed entered on—whether such abnormal growths could have ever changed in their nature.  Some day the study of metabolism may progress so far as to enable us to accept structural changes proceeding from an intellectual or moral base.  We may lean towards a belief that great animal strength may be a sound base for changes of all sorts.  If this be so, what could be a more fitting subject than primeval monsters whose strength was such as to allow a survival of thousands of years?  We do not know yet if brain can increase and develop independently of other parts of the living structure.

“After all, the mediaeval belief in the Philosopher’s Stone which could transmute metals, has its counterpart in the accepted theory of metabolism which changes living tissue.  In an age of investigation like our own, when we are returning to science as the base of wonders—almost of miracles—we should be slow to refuse to accept facts, however impossible they may seem to be.

“Let us suppose a monster of the early days of the world—a dragon of the prime—of vast age running into thousands of years, to whom had been conveyed in some way—it matters not—a brain just sufficient for the beginning of growth.  Suppose the monster to be of incalculable size and of a strength quite abnormal—a veritable incarnation of animal strength.  Suppose this animal is allowed to remain in one place, thus being removed from accidents of interrupted development; might not, would not this creature, in process of time—ages, if necessary—have that rudimentary intelligence developed?  There is no impossibility in this; it is only the natural process of evolution.  In the beginning, the instincts of animals are confined to alimentation, self-protection, and the multiplication of their species.  As time goes on and the needs of life become more complex, power follows need.  We have been long accustomed to consider growth as applied almost exclusively to size in its various aspects.  But Nature, who has no doctrinaire ideas, may equally apply it to concentration.  A developing thing may expand in any given way or form.  Now, it is a scientific law that increase implies gain and loss of various kinds; what a thing gains in one direction it may lose in another.  May it not be that Mother Nature may deliberately encourage decrease as well as increase—that it may be an axiom that what is gained in concentration is lost in size?  Take, for instance, monsters that tradition has accepted and localised, such as the Worm of Lambton or that of Spindleston Heugh.  If such a creature were, by its own process of metabolism, to change much of its bulk for intellectual growth, we should at once arrive at a new class of creature—more dangerous, perhaps, than the world has ever had any experience of—a force which can think, which has no soul and no morals, and therefore no acceptance of responsibility.  A snake would be a good illustration of this, for it is cold-blooded, and therefore removed from the temptations which often weaken or restrict warm-blooded creatures.  If, for instance, the Worm of Lambton—if such ever existed—were guided to its own ends by an organised intelligence capable of expansion, what form of creature could we imagine which would equal it in potentialities of evil?  Why, such a being would devastate a whole country.  Now, all these things require much thought, and we want to apply the knowledge usefully, and we should therefore be exact.  Would it not be well to resume the subject later in the day?”

“I quite agree, sir.  I am in a whirl already; and want to attend carefully to what you say; so that I may try to digest it.”

Both men seemed fresher and better for the “easy,” and when they met in the afternoon each of them had something to contribute to the general stock of information.  Adam, who was by nature of a more militant disposition than his elderly friend, was glad to see that the conference at once assumed a practical trend.  Sir Nathaniel recognised this, and, like an old diplomatist, turned it to present use.

“Tell me now, Adam, what is the outcome, in your own mind, of our conversation?”

“That the whole difficulty already assumes practical shape; but with added dangers, that at first I did not imagine.”

“What is the practical shape, and what are the added dangers?  I am not disputing, but only trying to clear my own ideas by the consideration of yours—”

So Adam went on:

“In the past, in the early days of the world, there were monsters who were so vast that they could exist for thousands of years.  Some of them must have overlapped the Christian era.  They may have progressed intellectually in process of time.  If they had in any way so progressed, or even got the most rudimentary form of brain, they would be the most dangerous things that ever were in the world.  Tradition says that one of these monsters lived in the Marsh of the East, and came up to a cave in Diana’s Grove, which was also called the Lair of the White Worm.  Such creatures may have grown down as well as up.  They may have grown into, or something like, human beings.  Lady Arabella March is of snake nature.  She has committed crimes to our knowledge.  She retains something of the vast strength of her primal being—can see in the dark—has the eyes of a snake.  She used the ****, and then dragged him through the snake’s hole down to the swamp; she is intent on evil, and hates some one we love.  Result . . . ”

“Yes, the result?”

“First, that Mimi Watford should be taken away at once—then—”


“The monster must be destroyed.”

“Bravo!  That is a true and fearless conclusion.  At whatever cost, it must be carried out.”

“At once?”

“Soon, at all events.  That creature’s very existence is a danger.  Her presence in this neighbourhood makes the danger immediate.”

As he spoke, Sir Nathaniel’s mouth hardened and his eyebrows came down till they met.  There was no doubting his concurrence in the resolution, or his readiness to help in carrying it out.  But he was an elderly man with much experience and knowledge of law and diplomacy.  It seemed to him to be a stern duty to prevent anything irrevocable taking place till it had been thought out and all was ready.  There were all sorts of legal cruxes to be thought out, not only regarding the taking of life, even of a monstrosity in human form, but also of property.  Lady Arabella, be she woman or snake or devil, owned the ground she moved in, according to British law, and the law is jealous and swift to avenge wrongs done within its ken.  All such difficulties should be—must be—avoided for Mr. Salton’s sake, for Adam’s own sake, and, most of all, for Mimi Watford’s sake.

Before he spoke again, Sir Nathaniel had made up his mind that he must try to postpone decisive action until the circumstances on which they depended—which, after all, were only problematical—should have been tested satisfactorily, one way or another.  When he did speak, Adam at first thought that his friend was wavering in his intention, or “funking” the responsibility.  However, his respect for Sir Nathaniel was so great that he would not act, or even come to a conclusion on a vital point, without his sanction.

He came close and whispered in his ear:

“We will prepare our plans to combat and destroy this horrible menace, after we have cleared up some of the more baffling points.  Meanwhile, we must wait for the night—I hear my uncle’s footsteps echoing down the hall.”

Sir Nathaniel nodded his approval.

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #21 on: September 15, 2007, 12:49:00 am »


When old Mr. Salton had retired for the night, Adam and Sir Nathaniel returned to the study.  Things went with great regularity at Lesser Hill, so they knew that there would be no interruption to their talk.

When their cigars were lighted, Sir Nathaniel began.

“I hope, Adam, that you do not think me either slack or changeable of purpose.  I mean to go through this business to the bitter end—whatever it may be.  Be satisfied that my first care is, and shall be, the protection of Mimi Watford.  To that I am pledged; my dear boy, we who are interested are all in the same danger.  That semi-human monster out of the pit hates and means to destroy us all—you and me certainly, and probably your uncle.  I wanted especially to talk with you to-night, for I cannot help thinking that the time is fast coming—if it has not come already—when we must take your uncle into our confidence.  It was one thing when fancied evils threatened, but now he is probably marked for death, and it is only right that he should know all.”

“I am with you, sir.  Things have changed since we agreed to keep him out of the trouble.  Now we dare not; consideration for his feelings might cost his life.  It is a duty—and no light or pleasant one, either.  I have not a shadow of doubt that he will want to be one with us in this.  But remember, we are his guests; his name, his honour, have to be thought of as well as his safety.”

“All shall be as you wish, Adam.  And now as to what we are to do?  We cannot murder Lady Arabella off-hand.  Therefore we shall have to put things in order for the killing, and in such a way that we cannot be taxed with a crime.”

“It seems to me, sir, that we are in an exceedingly tight place.  Our first difficulty is to know where to begin.  I never thought this fighting an antediluvian monster would be such a complicated job.  This one is a woman, with all a woman’s wit, combined with the heartlessness of a cocotte.  She has the strength and impregnability of a diplodocus.  We may be sure that in the fight that is before us there will be no semblance of fair-play.  Also that our unscrupulous opponent will not betray herself!”

“That is so—but being feminine, she will probably over-reach herself.  Now, Adam, it strikes me that, as we have to protect ourselves and others against feminine nature, our strong game will be to play our masculine against her feminine.  Perhaps we had better sleep on it.  She is a thing of the night; and the night may give us some ideas.”

So they both turned in.

Adam knocked at Sir Nathaniel’s door in the grey of the morning, and, on being bidden, came into the room.  He had several letters in his hand.  Sir Nathaniel sat up in bed.


“I should like to read you a few letters, but, of course, I shall not send them unless you approve.  In fact”—with a smile and a blush—“there are several things which I want to do; but I hold my hand and my tongue till I have your approval.”

“Go on!” said the other kindly.  “Tell me all, and count at any rate on my sympathy, and on my approval and help if I can see my way.”

Accordingly Adam proceeded:

“When I told you the conclusions at which I had arrived, I put in the foreground that Mimi Watford should, for the sake of her own safety, be removed—and that the monster which had wrought all the harm should be destroyed.”

“Yes, that is so.”

“To carry this into practice, sir, one preliminary is required—unless harm of another kind is to be faced.  Mimi should have some protector whom all the world would recognise.  The only form recognised by convention is marriage!”

Sir Nathaniel smiled in a fatherly way.

“To marry, a husband is required.  And that husband should be you.”

“Yes, yes.”

“And the marriage should be immediate and secret—or, at least, not spoken of outside ourselves.  Would the young lady be agreeable to that proceeding?”

“I do not know, sir!”

“Then how are we to proceed?”

“I suppose that we—or one of us—must ask her.”

“Is this a sudden idea, Adam, a sudden resolution?”

“A sudden resolution, sir, but not a sudden idea.  If she agrees, all is well and good.  The sequence is obvious.”

“And it is to be kept a secret amongst ourselves?”

“I want no secret, sir, except for Mimi’s good.  For myself, I should like to shout it from the house-tops!  But we must be discreet; untimely knowledge to our enemy might work incalculable harm.”

“And how would you suggest, Adam, that we could combine the momentous question with secrecy?”

Adam grew red and moved uneasily.

“Someone must ask her—as soon as possible!”

“And that someone?”

“I thought that you, sir, would be so good!”

“God bless my soul!  This is a new kind of duty to take on—at my time of life.  Adam, I hope you know that you can count on me to help in any way I can!”

“I have already counted on you, sir, when I ventured to make such a suggestion.  I can only ask,” he added, “that you will be more than ever kind to me—to us—and look on the painful duty as a voluntary act of grace, prompted by kindness and affection.”

“Painful duty!”

“Yes,” said Adam boldly.  “Painful to you, though to me it would be all joyful.”

“It is a strange job for an early morning!  Well, we all live and learn.  I suppose the sooner I go the better.  You had better write a line for me to take with me.  For, you see, this is to be a somewhat unusual transaction, and it may be embarrassing to the lady, even to myself.  So we ought to have some sort of warrant, something to show that we have been mindful of her feelings.  It will not do to take acquiescence for granted—although we act for her good.”

“Sir Nathaniel, you are a true friend; I am sure that both Mimi and I shall be grateful to you for all our lives—however long they may be!”

So the two talked it over and agreed as to points to be borne in mind by the ambassador.  It was striking ten when Sir Nathaniel left the house, Adam seeing him quietly off.

As the young man followed him with wistful eyes—almost jealous of the privilege which his kind deed was about to bring him—he felt that his own heart was in his friend’s breast.

The memory of that morning was like a dream to all those concerned in it.  Sir Nathaniel had a confused recollection of detail and sequence, though the main facts stood out in his memory boldly and clearly.  Adam Salton’s recollection was of an illimitable wait, filled with anxiety, hope, and chagrin, all dominated by a sense of the slow passage of time and accompanied by vague fears.  Mimi could not for a long time think at all, or recollect anything, except that Adam loved her and was saving her from a terrible danger.  When she had time to think, later on, she wondered when she had any ignorance of the fact that Adam loved her, and that she loved him with all her heart.  Everything, every recollection however small, every feeling, seemed to fit into those elemental facts as though they had all been moulded together.  The main and crowning recollection was her saying goodbye to Sir Nathaniel, and entrusting to him loving messages, straight from her heart, to Adam Salton, and of his bearing when—with an impulse which she could not check—she put her lips to his and kissed him.  Later, when she was alone and had time to think, it was a passing grief to her that she would have to be silent, for a time, to Lilla on the happy events of that strange mission.

She had, of course, agreed to keep all secret until Adam should give her leave to speak.

The advice and assistance of Sir Nathaniel was a great help to Adam in carrying out his idea of marrying Mimi Watford without publicity.  He went with him to London, and, with his influence, the young man obtained the license of the Archbishop of Canterbury for a private marriage.  Sir Nathaniel then persuaded old Mr. Salton to allow his nephew to spend a few weeks with him at Doom Tower, and it was here that Mimi became Adam’s wife.  But that was only the first step in their plans; before going further, however, Adam took his bride off to the Isle of Man.  He wished to place a stretch of sea between Mimi and the White Worm, while things matured.  On their return, Sir Nathaniel met them and drove them at once to Doom, taking care to avoid any one that he knew on the journey.

Sir Nathaniel had taken care to have the doors and windows shut and locked—all but the door used for their entry.  The shutters were up and the blinds down.  Moreover, heavy curtains were drawn across the windows.  When Adam commented on this, Sir Nathaniel said in a whisper:

“Wait till we are alone, and I’ll tell you why this is done; in the meantime not a word or a sign.  You will approve when we have had a talk together.”

They said no more on the subject till after dinner, when they were ensconced in Sir Nathaniel’s study, which was on the top storey.  Doom Tower was a lofty structure, situated on an eminence high up in the Peak.  The top commanded a wide prospect, ranging from the hills above the Ribble to the near side of the Brow, which marked the northern bound of ancient Mercia.  It was of the early Norman period, less than a century younger than Castra Regis.  The windows of the study were barred and locked, and heavy dark curtains closed them in.  When this was done not a gleam of light from the tower could be seen from outside.

When they were alone, Sir Nathaniel explained that he had taken his old friend, Mr. Salton, into full confidence, and that in future all would work together.

“It is important for you to be extremely careful.  In spite of the fact that our marriage was kept secret, as also your temporary absence, both are known.”

“How?  To whom?”

“How, I know not; but I am beginning to have an idea.”

“To her?” asked Adam, in momentary consternation.

Sir Nathaniel shivered perceptibly.

“The White Worm—yes!”

Adam noticed that from now on, his friend never spoke of Lady Arabella otherwise, except when he wished to divert the suspicion of others.

Sir Nathaniel switched off the electric light, and when the room was pitch dark, he came to Adam, took him by the hand, and led him to a seat set in the southern window.  Then he softly drew back a piece of the curtain and motioned his companion to look out.

Adam did so, and immediately shrank back as though his eyes had opened on pressing danger.  His companion set his mind at rest by saying in a low voice:

“It is all right; you may speak, but speak low.  There is no danger here—at present!”

Adam leaned forward, taking care, however, not to press his face against the glass.  What he saw would not under ordinary circumstances have caused concern to anybody.  With his special knowledge, it was appalling—though the night was now so dark that in reality there was little to be seen.

On the western side of the tower stood a grove of old trees, of forest dimensions.  They were not grouped closely, but stood a little apart from each other, producing the effect of a row widely planted.  Over the tops of them was seen a green light, something like the danger signal at a railway-crossing.  It seemed at first quite still; but presently, when Adam’s eye became accustomed to it, he could see that it moved as if trembling.  This at once recalled to Adam’s mind the light quivering above the well-hole in the darkness of that inner room at Diana’s Grove, Oolanga’s awful shriek, and the hideous black face, now grown grey with terror, disappearing into the impenetrable gloom of the mysterious orifice.  Instinctively he laid his hand on his revolver, and stood up ready to protect his wife.  Then, seeing that nothing happened, and that the light and all outside the tower remained the same, he softly pulled the curtain over the window.

Sir Nathaniel switched on the light again, and in its comforting glow they began to talk freely.

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« Reply #22 on: September 15, 2007, 12:50:05 am »


“She has diabolical cunning,” said Sir Nathaniel.  “Ever since you left, she has ranged along the Brow and wherever you were accustomed to frequent.  I have not heard whence the knowledge of your movements came to her, nor have I been able to learn any data whereon to found an opinion.  She seems to have heard both of your marriage and your absence; but I gather, by inference, that she does not actually know where you and Mimi are, or of your return.  So soon as the dusk fails, she goes out on her rounds, and before dawn covers the whole ground round the Brow, and away up into the heart of the Peak.  The White Worm, in her own proper shape, certainly has great facilities for the business on which she is now engaged.  She can look into windows of any ordinary kind.  Happily, this house is beyond her reach, if she wishes—as she manifestly does—to remain unrecognised.  But, even at this height, it is wise to show no lights, lest she might learn something of our presence or absence.”

“Would it not be well, sir, if one of us could see this monster in her real shape at close quarters?  I am willing to run the risk—for I take it there would be no slight risk in the doing.  I don’t suppose anyone of our time has seen her close and lived to tell the tale.”

Sir Nathaniel held up an expostulatory hand.

“Good God, lad, what are you suggesting?  Think of your wife, and all that is at stake.”

“It is of Mimi that I think—for her sake that I am willing to risk whatever is to be risked.”

Adam’s young bride was proud of her man, but she blanched at the thought of the ghastly White Worm.  Adam saw this and at once reassured her.

“So long as her ladyship does not know whereabout I am, I shall have as much safety as remains to us; bear in mind, my darling, that we cannot be too careful.”

Sir Nathaniel realised that Adam was right; the White Worm had no supernatural powers and could not harm them until she discovered their hiding place.  It was agreed, therefore, that the two men should go together.

When the two men slipped out by the back door of the house, they walked cautiously along the avenue which trended towards the west.  Everything was pitch dark—so dark that at times they had to feel their way by the palings and tree-trunks.  They could still see, seemingly far in front of them and high up, the baleful light which at the height and distance seemed like a faint line.  As they were now on the level of the ground, the light seemed infinitely higher than it had from the top of the tower.  At the sight Adam’s heart fell; the danger of the desperate enterprise which he had undertaken burst upon him.  But this feeling was shortly followed by another which restored him to himself—a fierce loathing, and a desire to kill, such as he had never experienced before.

They went on for some distance on a level road, fairly wide, from which the green light was visible.  Here Sir Nathaniel spoke softly, placing his lips to Adam’s ear for safety.

“We know nothing whatever of this creature’s power of hearing or smelling, though I presume that both are of no great strength.  As to seeing, we may presume the opposite, but in any case we must try to keep in the shade behind the tree-trunks.  The slightest error would be fatal to us.”

Adam only nodded, in case there should be any chance of the monster seeing the movement.

After a time that seemed interminable, they emerged from the circling wood.  It was like coming out into sunlight by comparison with the misty blackness which had been around them.  There was light enough to see by, though not sufficient to distinguish things at a distance.  Adam’s eyes sought the green light in the sky.  It was still in about the same place, but its surroundings were more visible.  It was now at the summit of what seemed to be a long white pole, near the top of which were two pendant white masses, like rudimentary arms or fins.  The green light, strangely enough, did not seem lessened by the surrounding starlight, but had a clearer effect and a deeper green.  Whilst they were carefully regarding this—Adam with the aid of an opera-glass—their nostrils were assailed by a horrid stench, something like that which rose from the well-hole in Diana’s Grove.

By degrees, as their eyes got the right focus, they saw an immense towering mass that seemed snowy white.  It was tall and thin.  The lower part was hidden by the trees which lay between, but they could follow the tall white shaft and the duplicate green lights which topped it.  As they looked there was a movement—the shaft seemed to bend, and the line of green light descended amongst the trees.  They could see the green light twinkle as it passed between the obstructing branches.

Seeing where the head of the monster was, the two men ventured a little further forward, and saw that the hidden mass at the base of the shaft was composed of vast coils of the great serpent’s body, forming a base from which the upright mass rose.  As they looked, this lower mass moved, the glistening folds catching the moonlight, and they could see that the monster’s progress was along the ground.  It was coming towards them at a swift pace, so they turned and ran, taking care to make as little noise as possible, either by their footfalls or by disturbing the undergrowth close to them.  They did not stop or pause till they saw before them the high dark tower of Doom.

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #23 on: September 15, 2007, 12:51:02 am »


Sir Nathaniel was in the library next morning, after breakfast, when Adam came to him carrying a letter.

“Her ladyship doesn’t lose any time.  She has begun work already!”

Sir Nathaniel, who was writing at a table near the window, looked up.

“What is it?” said he.

Adam held out the letter he was carrying.  It was in a blazoned envelope.

“Ha!” said Sir Nathaniel, “from the White Worm!  I expected something of the kind.”

“But,” said Adam, “how could she have known we were here?  She didn’t know last night.”

“I don’t think we need trouble about that, Adam.  There is so much we do not understand.  This is only another mystery.  Suffice it that she does know—perhaps it is all the better and safer for us.”

“How is that?” asked Adam with a puzzled look.

“General process of reasoning, my boy; and the experience of some years in the diplomatic world.  This creature is a monster without heart or consideration for anything or anyone.  She is not nearly so dangerous in the open as when she has the dark to protect her.  Besides, we know, by our own experience of her movements, that for some reason she shuns publicity.  In spite of her vast bulk and abnormal strength, she is afraid to attack openly.  After all, she is only a snake and with a snake’s nature, which is to keep low and squirm, and proceed by stealth and cunning.  She will never attack when she can run away, although she knows well that running away would probably be fatal to her.  What is the letter about?”

Sir Nathaniel’s voice was calm and self-possessed.  When he was engaged in any struggle of wits he was all diplomatist.

“She asks Mimi and me to tea this afternoon at Diana’s Grove, and hopes that you also will favour her.”

Sir Nathaniel smiled.

“Please ask Mrs. Salton to accept for us all.”

“She means some deadly mischief.  Surely—surely it would be wiser not.”

“It is an old trick that we learn early in diplomacy, Adam—to fight on ground of your own choice.  It is true that she suggested the place on this occasion; but by accepting it we make it ours.  Moreover, she will not be able to understand our reason for doing so, and her own bad conscience—if she has any, bad or good—and her own fears and doubts will play our game for us.  No, my dear boy, let us accept, by all means.”

Adam said nothing, but silently held out his hand, which his companion shook: no words were necessary.

When it was getting near tea-time, Mimi asked Sir Nathaniel how they were going.

“We must make a point of going in state.  We want all possible publicity.”  Mimi looked at him inquiringly.  “Certainly, my dear, in the present circumstances publicity is a part of safety.  Do not be surprised if, whilst we are at Diana’s Grove, occasional messages come for you—for all or any of us.”

“I see!” said Mrs. Salton.  “You are taking no chances.”

“None, my dear.  All I have learned at foreign courts, and amongst civilised and uncivilised people, is going to be utilised within the next couple of hours.”

Sir Nathaniel’s voice was full of seriousness, and it brought to Mimi in a convincing way the awful gravity of the occasion

In due course, they set out in a carriage drawn by a fine pair of horses, who soon devoured the few miles of their journey.  Before they came to the gate, Sir Nathaniel turned to Mimi.

“I have arranged with Adam certain signals which may be necessary if certain eventualities occur.  These need be nothing to do with you directly.  But bear in mind that if I ask you or Adam to do anything, do not lose a second in the doing of it.  We must try to pass off such moments with an appearance of unconcern.  In all probability, nothing requiring such care will occur.  The White Worm will not try force, though she has so much of it to spare.  Whatever she may attempt to-day, of harm to any of us, will be in the way of secret plot.  Some other time she may try force, but—if I am able to judge such a thing—not to-day.  The messengers who may ask for any of us will not be witnesses only, they may help to stave off danger.”  Seeing query in her face, he went on: “Of what kind the danger may be, I know not, and cannot guess.  It will doubtless be some ordinary circumstance; but none the less dangerous on that account.  Here we are at the gate.  Now, be careful in all matters, however small.  To keep your head is half the battle.”

There were a number of men in livery in the hall when they arrived.  The doors of the drawing-room were thrown open, and Lady Arabella came forth and offered them cordial welcome.  This having been got over, Lady Arabella led them into another room where tea was served.

Adam was acutely watchful and suspicious of everything, and saw on the far side of this room a panelled iron door of the same colour and configuration as the outer door of the room where was the well-hole wherein Oolanga had disappeared.  Something in the sight alarmed him, and he quietly stood near the door.  He made no movement, even of his eyes, but he could see that Sir Nathaniel was watching him intently, and, he fancied, with approval.

They all sat near the table spread for tea, Adam still near the door.  Lady Arabella fanned herself, complaining of heat, and told one of the footmen to throw all the outer doors open.

Tea was in progress when Mimi suddenly started up with a look of fright on her face; at the same moment, the men became cognisant of a thick smoke which began to spread through the room—a smoke which made those who experienced it gasp and choke.  The footmen began to edge uneasily towards the inner door.  Denser and denser grew the smoke, and more acrid its smell.  Mimi, towards whom the draught from the open door wafted the smoke, rose up choking, and ran to the inner door, which she threw open to its fullest extent, disclosing on the outside a curtain of thin silk, fixed to the doorposts.  The draught from the open door swayed the thin silk towards her, and in her fright, she tore down the curtain, which enveloped her from head to foot.  Then she ran through the still open door, heedless of the fact that she could not see where she was going.  Adam, followed by Sir Nathaniel, rushed forward and joined her—Adam catching his wife by the arm and holding her tight.  It was well that he did so, for just before her lay the black orifice of the well-hole, which, of course, she could not see with the silk curtain round her head.  The floor was extremely slippery; something like thick oil had been spilled where she had to pass; and close to the edge of the hole her feet shot from under her, and she stumbled forward towards the well-hole.

When Adam saw Mimi slip, he flung himself backward, still holding her.  His weight told, and he dragged her up from the hole and they fell together on the floor outside the zone of slipperiness.  In a moment he had raised her up, and together they rushed out through the open door into the sunlight, Sir Nathaniel close behind them.  They were all pale except the old diplomatist, who looked both calm and cool.  It sustained and cheered Adam and his wife to see him thus master of himself.  Both managed to follow his example, to the wonderment of the footmen, who saw the three who had just escaped a terrible danger walking together gaily, as, under the guiding pressure of Sir Nathaniel’s hand, they turned to re-enter the house.

Lady Arabella, whose face had blanched to a deadly white, now resumed her ministrations at the tea-board as though nothing unusual had happened.  The slop-basin was full of half-burned brown paper, over which tea had been poured.

Sir Nathaniel had been narrowly observing his hostess, and took the first opportunity afforded him of whispering to Adam:

“The real attack is to come—she is too quiet.  When I give my hand to your wife to lead her out, come with us—and caution her to hurry.  Don’t lose a second, even if you have to make a scene.  Hs-s-s-h!”

Then they resumed their places close to the table, and the servants, in obedience to Lady Arabella’s order, brought in fresh tea.

Thence on, that tea-party seemed to Adam, whose faculties were at their utmost intensity, like a terrible dream.  As for poor Mimi, she was so overwrought both with present and future fear, and with horror at the danger she had escaped, that her faculties were numb.  However, she was braced up for a trial, and she felt assured that whatever might come she would be able to go through with it.  Sir Nathaniel seemed just as usual—suave, dignified, and thoughtful—perfect master of himself.

To her husband, it was evident that Mimi was ill at ease.  The way she kept turning her head to look around her, the quick coming and going of the colour of her face, her hurried breathing, alternating with periods of suspicious calm, were evidences of mental perturbation.  To her, the attitude of Lady Arabella seemed compounded of social sweetness and personal consideration.  It would be hard to imagine more thoughtful and tender kindness towards an honoured guest.

When tea was over and the servants had come to clear away the cups, Lady Arabella, putting her arm round Mimi’s waist, strolled with her into an adjoining room, where she collected a number of photographs which were scattered about, and, sitting down beside her guest, began to show them to her.  While she was doing this, the servants closed all the doors of the suite of rooms, as well as that which opened from the room outside—that of the well-hole into the avenue.  Suddenly, without any seeming cause, the light in the room began to grow dim.  Sir Nathaniel, who was sitting close to Mimi, rose to his feet, and, crying, “Quick!” caught hold of her hand and began to drag her from the room.  Adam caught her other hand, and between them they drew her through the outer door which the servants were beginning to close.  It was difficult at first to find the way, the darkness was so great; but to their relief when Adam whistled shrilly, the carriage and horses, which had been waiting in the angle of the avenue, dashed up.  Her husband and Sir Nathaniel lifted—almost threw—Mimi into the carriage.  The postillion plied whip and spur, and the vehicle, rocking with its speed, swept through the gate and tore up the road.  Behind them was a hubbub—servants rushing about, orders being shouted out, doors shutting, and somewhere, seemingly far back in the house, a strange noise.  Every nerve of the horses was strained as they dashed recklessly along the road.  The two men held Mimi between them, the arms of both of them round her as though protectingly.  As they went, there was a sudden rise in the ground; but the horses, breathing heavily, dashed up it at racing speed, not slackening their pace when the hill fell away again, leaving them to hurry along the downgrade.

It would be foolish to say that neither Adam nor Mimi had any fear in returning to Doom Tower.  Mimi felt it more keenly than her husband, whose nerves were harder, and who was more inured to danger.  Still she bore up bravely, and as usual the effort was helpful to her.  When once she was in the study in the top of the turret, she almost forgot the terrors which lay outside in the dark.  She did not attempt to peep out of the window; but Adam did—and saw nothing.  The moonlight showed all the surrounding country, but nowhere was to be observed that tremulous line of green light.

The peaceful night had a good effect on them all; danger, being unseen, seemed far off.  At times it was hard to realise that it had ever been.  With courage restored, Adam rose early and walked along the Brow, seeing no change in the signs of life in Castra Regis.  What he did see, to his wonder and concern, on his returning homeward, was Lady Arabella, in her tight-fitting white dress and ermine collar, but without her emeralds; she was emerging from the gate of Diana’s Grove and walking towards the Castle.  Pondering on this and trying to find some meaning in it, occupied his thoughts till he joined Mimi and Sir Nathaniel at breakfast.  They began the meal in silence.  What had been had been, and was known to them all.  Moreover, it was not a pleasant topic.

A fillip was given to the conversation when Adam told of his seeing Lady Arabella, on her way to Castra Regis.  They each had something to say of her, and of what her wishes or intentions were towards Edgar Caswall.  Mimi spoke bitterly of her in every aspect.  She had not forgotten—and never would—never could—the occasion when, to harm Lilla, the woman had consorted even with the ****.  As a social matter, she was disgusted with her for following up the rich landowner—“throwing herself at his head so shamelessly,” was how she expressed it.  She was interested to know that the great kite still flew from Caswall’s tower.  But beyond such matters she did not try to go.  The only comment she made was of strongly expressed surprise at her ladyship’s “cheek” in ignoring her own criminal acts, and her impudence in taking it for granted that others had overlooked them also.

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« Reply #24 on: September 15, 2007, 12:52:19 am »


The more Mimi thought over the late events, the more puzzled she was.  What did it all mean—what could it mean, except that there was an error of fact somewhere.  Could it be possible that some of them—all of them had been mistaken, that there had been no White Worm at all?  On either side of her was a belief impossible of reception.  Not to believe in what seemed apparent was to destroy the very foundations of belief . . . yet in old days there had been monsters on the earth, and certainly some people had believed in just such mysterious changes of identity.  It was all very strange.  Just fancy how any stranger—say a doctor—would regard her, if she were to tell him that she had been to a tea-party with an antediluvian monster, and that they had been waited on by up-to-date men-servants.

Adam had returned, exhilarated by his walk, and more settled in his mind than he had been for some time.  Like Mimi, he had gone through the phase of doubt and inability to believe in the reality of things, though it had not affected him to the same extent.  The idea, however, that his wife was suffering ill-effects from her terrible ordeal, braced him up.  He remained with her for a time, then he sought Sir Nathaniel in order to talk over the matter with him.  He knew that the calm common sense and self-reliance of the old man, as well as his experience, would be helpful to them all.

Sir Nathaniel had come to the conclusion that, for some reason which he did not understand, Lady Arabella had changed her plans, and, for the present at all events, was pacific.  He was inclined to attribute her changed demeanour to the fact that her influence over Edgar Caswall was so far increased, as to justify a more fixed belief in his submission to her charms.

As a matter of fact, she had seen Caswall that morning when she visited Castra Regis, and they had had a long talk together, during which the possibility of their union had been discussed.  Caswall, without being enthusiastic on the subject, had been courteous and attentive; as she had walked back to Diana’s Grove, she almost congratulated herself on her new settlement in life.  That the idea was becoming fixed in her mind, was shown by a letter which she wrote later in the day to Adam Salton, and sent to him by hand.  It ran as follows:


“I wonder if you would kindly advise, and, if possible, help me in a matter of business.  I have been for some time trying to make up my mind to sell Diana’s Grove, I have put off and put off the doing of it till now.  The place is my own property, and no one has to be consulted with regard to what I may wish to do about it.  It was bought by my late husband, Captain Adolphus Ranger March, who had another residence, The Crest, Appleby.  He acquired all rights of all kinds, including mining and sporting.  When he died, he left his whole property to me.  I shall feel leaving this place, which has become endeared to me by many sacred memories and affections—the recollection of many happy days of my young married life, and the more than happy memories of the man I loved and who loved me so much.  I should be willing to sell the place for any fair price—so long, of course, as the purchaser was one I liked and of whom I approved.  May I say that you yourself would be the ideal person.  But I dare not hope for so much.  It strikes me, however, that among your Australian friends may be someone who wishes to make a settlement in the Old Country, and would care to fix the spot in one of the most historic regions in England, full of romance and legend, and with a never-ending vista of historical interest—an estate which, though small, is in perfect condition and with illimitable possibilities of development, and many doubtful—or unsettled—rights which have existed before the time of the Romans or even Celts, who were the original possessors.  In addition, the house has been kept up to the dernier cri.  Immediate possession can be arranged.  My lawyers can provide you, or whoever you may suggest, with all business and historical details.  A word from you of acceptance or refusal is all that is necessary, and we can leave details to be thrashed out by our agents.  Forgive me, won’t you, for troubling you in the matter, and believe me, yours very sincerely.


Adam read this over several times, and then, his mind being made up, he went to Mimi and asked if she had any objection.  She answered—after a shudder—that she was, in this, as in all things, willing to do whatever he might wish.

“Dearest, I am willing that you should judge what is best for us.  Be quite free to act as you see your duty, and as your inclination calls.  We are in the hands of God, and He has hitherto guided us, and will do so to His own end.”

From his wife’s room Adam Salton went straight to the study in the tower, where he knew Sir Nathaniel would be at that hour.  The old man was alone, so, when he had entered in obedience to the “Come in,” which answered his query, he closed the door and sat down beside him.

“Do you think, sir, that it would be well for me to buy Diana’s Grove?”

“God bless my soul!” said the old man, startled, “why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Well, I have vowed to destroy that White Worm, and my being able to do whatever I may choose with the Lair would facilitate matters and avoid complications.”

Sir Nathaniel hesitated longer than usual before speaking.  He was thinking deeply.

“Yes, Adam, there is much common sense in your suggestion, though it startled me at first.  I think that, for all reasons, you would do well to buy the property and to have the conveyance settled at once.  If you want more money than is immediately convenient, let me know, so that I may be your banker.”

“Thank you, sir, most heartily; but I have more money at immediate call than I shall want.  I am glad you approve.”

“The property is historic, and as time goes on it will increase in value.  Moreover, I may tell you something, which indeed is only a surmise, but which, if I am right, will add great value to the place.”  Adam listened.  “Has it ever struck you why the old name, ‘The Lair of the White Worm,’ was given?  We know that there was a snake which in early days was called a worm; but why white?”

“I really don’t know, sir; I never thought of it.  I simply took it for granted.”

“So did I at first—long ago.  But later I puzzled my brain for a reason.”

“And what was the reason, sir?”

“Simply and solely because the snake or worm was white.  We are near the county of Stafford, where the great industry of china-burning was originated and grew.  Stafford owes much of its wealth to the large deposits of the rare china clay found in it from time to time.  These deposits become in time pretty well exhausted; but for centuries Stafford adventurers looked for the special clay, as Ohio and Pennsylvania farmers and explorers looked for oil.  Anyone owning real estate on which china clay can be discovered strikes a sort of gold mine.”

“Yes, and then—”  The young man looked puzzled.

“The original ‘Worm’ so-called, from which the name of the place came, had to find a direct way down to the marshes and the mud-holes.  Now, the clay is easily penetrable, and the original hole probably pierced a bed of china clay.  When once the way was made it would become a sort of highway for the Worm.  But as much movement was necessary to ascend such a great height, some of the clay would become attached to its rough skin by attrition.  The downway must have been easy work, but the ascent was different, and when the monster came to view in the upper world, it would be fresh from contact with the white clay.  Hence the name, which has no cryptic significance, but only fact.  Now, if that surmise be true—and I do not see why not—there must be a deposit of valuable clay—possibly of immense depth.”

Adam’s comment pleased the old gentleman.

“I have it in my bones, sir, that you have struck—or rather reasoned out—a great truth.”

Sir Nathaniel went on cheerfully.  “When the world of commerce wakes up to the value of your find, it will be as well that your title to ownership has been perfectly secured.  If anyone ever deserved such a gain, it is you.”

With his friend’s aid, Adam secured the property without loss of time.  Then he went to see his uncle, and told him about it.  Mr. Salton was delighted to find his young relative already constructively the owner of so fine an estate—one which gave him an important status in the county.  He made many anxious enquiries about Mimi, and the doings of the White Worm, but Adam reassured him.

The next morning, when Adam went to his host in the smoking-room, Sir Nathaniel asked him how he purposed to proceed with regard to keeping his vow.

“It is a difficult matter which you have undertaken.  To destroy such a monster is something like one of the labours of Hercules, in that not only its size and weight and power of using them in little-known ways are against you, but the occult side is alone an unsurpassable difficulty.  The Worm is already master of all the elements except fire—and I do not see how fire can be used for the attack.  It has only to sink into the earth in its usual way, and you could not overtake it if you had the resources of the biggest coal-mine in existence.  But I daresay you have mapped out some plan in your mind,” he added courteously.

“I have, sir.  But, of course, it may not stand the test of practice.”

“May I know the idea?”

“Well, sir, this was my argument: At the time of the Chartist trouble, an idea spread amongst financial circles that an attack was going to be made on the Bank of England.  Accordingly, the directors of that institution consulted many persons who were supposed to know what steps should be taken, and it was finally decided that the best protection against fire—which is what was feared—was not water but sand.  To carry the scheme into practice great store of fine sea-sand—the kind that blows about and is used to fill hour-glasses—was provided throughout the building, especially at the points liable to attack, from which it could be brought into use.

“I propose to provide at Diana’s Grove, as soon as it comes into my possession, an enormous amount of such sand, and shall take an early occasion of pouring it into the well-hole, which it will in time choke.  Thus Lady Arabella, in her guise of the White Worm, will find herself cut off from her refuge.  The hole is a narrow one, and is some hundreds of feet deep.  The weight of the sand this can contain would not in itself be sufficient to obstruct; but the friction of such a body working up against it would be tremendous.”

“One moment.  What use would the sand be for destruction?”

“None, directly; but it would hold the struggling body in place till the rest of my scheme came into practice.”

“And what is the rest?”

“As the sand is being poured into the well-hole, quantities of dynamite can also be thrown in!”

“Good.  But how would the dynamite explode—for, of course, that is what you intend.  Would not some sort of wire or fuse he required for each parcel of dynamite?”

Adam smiled.

“Not in these days, sir.  That was proved in New York.  A thousand pounds of dynamite, in sealed canisters, was placed about some workings.  At the last a charge of gunpowder was fired, and the concussion exploded the dynamite.  It was most successful.  Those who were non-experts in high explosives expected that every pane of glass in New York would be shattered.  But, in reality, the explosive did no harm outside the area intended, although sixteen acres of rock had been mined and only the supporting walls and pillars had been left intact.  The whole of the rocks were shattered.”

Sir Nathaniel nodded approval.

“That seems a good plan—a very excellent one.  But if it has to tear down so many feet of precipice, it may wreck the whole neighbourhood.”

“And free it for ever from a monster,” added Adam, as he left the room to find his wife.

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« Reply #25 on: September 15, 2007, 12:53:10 am »


Lady Arabella had instructed her solicitors to hurry on with the conveyance of Diana’s Grove, so no time was lost in letting Adam Salton have formal possession of the estate.  After his interview with Sir Nathaniel, he had taken steps to begin putting his plan into action.  In order to accumulate the necessary amount of fine sea-sand, he ordered the steward to prepare for an elaborate system of top-dressing all the grounds.  A great heap of the sand, brought from bays on the Welsh coast, began to grow at the back of the Grove.  No one seemed to suspect that it was there for any purpose other than what had been given out.

Lady Arabella, who alone could have guessed, was now so absorbed in her matrimonial pursuit of Edgar Caswall, that she had neither time nor inclination for thought extraneous to this.  She had not yet moved from the house, though she had formally handed over the estate.

Adam put up a rough corrugated-iron shed behind the Grove, in which he stored his explosives.  All being ready for his great attempt whenever the time should come, he was now content to wait, and, in order to pass the time, interested himself in other things—even in Caswall’s great kite, which still flew from the high tower of Castra Regis.

The mound of fine sand grew to proportions so vast as to puzzle the bailiffs and farmers round the Brow.  The hour of the intended cataclysm was approaching apace.  Adam wished—but in vain—for an opportunity, which would appear to be natural, of visiting Caswall in the turret of Castra Regis.  At last, one morning, he met Lady Arabella moving towards the Castle, so he took his courage à deux mains and asked to be allowed to accompany her.  She was glad, for her own purposes, to comply with his wishes.  So together they entered, and found their way to the turret-room.  Caswall was much surprised to see Adam come to his house, but lent himself to the task of seeming to be pleased.  He played the host so well as to deceive even Adam.  They all went out on the turret roof, where he explained to his guests the mechanism for raising and lowering the kite, taking also the opportunity of testing the movements of the multitudes of birds, how they answered almost instantaneously to the lowering or raising of the kite.

As Lady Arabella walked home with Adam from Castra Regis, she asked him if she might make a request.  Permission having been accorded, she explained that before she finally left Diana’s Grove, where she had lived so long, she had a desire to know the depth of the well-hole.  Adam was really happy to meet her wishes, not from any sentiment, but because he wished to give some valid and ostensible reason for examining the passage of the Worm, which would obviate any suspicion resulting from his being on the premises.  He brought from London a Kelvin sounding apparatus, with a sufficient length of piano-wire for testing any probable depth.  The wire passed easily over the running wheel, and when this was once fixed over the hole, he was satisfied to wait till the most advantageous time for his final experiment.

* * * * *

In the meantime, affairs had been going quietly at Mercy Farm.  Lilla, of course, felt lonely in the absence of her cousin, but the even tenor of life went on for her as for others.  After the first shock of parting was over, things went back to their accustomed routine.  In one respect, however, there was a marked difference.  So long as home conditions had remained unchanged, Lilla was content to put ambition far from her, and to settle down to the life which had been hers as long as she could remember.  But Mimi’s marriage set her thinking; naturally, she came to the conclusion that she too might have a mate.  There was not for her much choice—there was little movement in the matrimonial direction at the farmhouse.  She did not approve of the personality of Edgar Caswall, and his struggle with Mimi had frightened her; but he was unmistakably an excellent parti, much better than she could have any right to expect.  This weighs much with a woman, and more particularly one of her class.  So, on the whole, she was content to let things take their course, and to abide by the issue.

As time went on, she had reason to believe that things did not point to happiness.  She could not shut her eyes to certain disturbing facts, amongst which were the existence of Lady Arabella and her growing intimacy with Edgar Caswall; as well as his own cold and haughty nature, so little in accord with the ardour which is the foundation of a young maid’s dreams of happiness.  How things would, of necessity, alter if she were to marry, she was afraid to think.  All told, the prospect was not happy for her, and she had a secret longing that something might occur to upset the order of things as at present arranged.

When Lilla received a note from Edgar Caswall asking if he might come to tea on the following afternoon, her heart sank within her.  If it was only for her father’s sake, she must not refuse him or show any disinclination which he might construe into incivility.  She missed Mimi more than she could say or even dared to think.  Hitherto, she had always looked to her cousin for sympathy, for understanding, for loyal support.  Now she and all these things, and a thousand others—gentle, assuring, supporting—were gone.  And instead there was a horrible aching void.

For the whole afternoon and evening, and for the following forenoon, poor Lilla’s loneliness grew to be a positive agony.  For the first time she began to realise the sense of her loss, as though all the previous suffering had been merely a preparation.  Everything she looked at, everything she remembered or thought of, became laden with poignant memory.  Then on the top of all was a new sense of dread.  The reaction from the sense of security, which had surrounded her all her life, to a never-quieted apprehension, was at times almost more than she could bear.  It so filled her with fear that she had a haunting feeling that she would as soon die as live.  However, whatever might be her own feelings, duty had to be done, and as she had been brought up to consider duty first, she braced herself to go through, to the very best of her ability, what was before her.

Still, the severe and prolonged struggle for self-control told upon Lilla.  She looked, as she felt, ill and weak.  She was really in a nerveless and prostrate condition, with black circles round her eyes, pale even to her lips, and with an instinctive trembling which she was quite unable to repress.  It was for her a sad mischance that Mimi was away, for her love would have seen through all obscuring causes, and have brought to light the girl’s unhappy condition of health.  Lilla was utterly unable to do anything to escape from the ordeal before her; but her cousin, with the experience of her former struggles with Mr. Caswall and of the condition in which these left her, would have taken steps—even peremptory ones, if necessary—to prevent a repetition.

Edgar arrived punctually to the time appointed by herself.  When Lilla, through the great window, saw him approaching the house, her condition of nervous upset was pitiable.  She braced herself up, however, and managed to get through the interview in its preliminary stages without any perceptible change in her normal appearance and bearing.  It had been to her an added terror that the black shadow of Oolanga, whom she dreaded, would follow hard on his master.  A load was lifted from her mind when he did not make his usual stealthy approach.  She had also feared, though in lesser degree, lest Lady Arabella should be present to make trouble for her as before.

With a woman’s natural forethought in a difficult position, she had provided the furnishing of the tea-table as a subtle indication of the social difference between her and her guest.  She had chosen the implements of service, as well as all the provender set forth, of the humblest kind.  Instead of arranging the silver teapot and china cups, she had set out an earthen teapot, such as was in common use in the farm kitchen.  The same idea was carried out in the cups and saucers of thick homely delft, and in the cream-jug of similar kind.  The bread was of simple whole-meal, home-baked.  The butter was good, since she had made it herself, while the preserves and honey came from her own garden.  Her face beamed with satisfaction when the guest eyed the appointments with a supercilious glance.  It was a shock to the poor girl herself, for she enjoyed offering to a guest the little hospitalities possible to her; but that had to be sacrificed with other pleasures.

Caswall’s face was more set and iron-clad than ever—his piercing eyes seemed from the very beginning to look her through and through.  Her heart quailed when she thought of what would follow—of what would be the end, when this was only the beginning.  As some protection, though it could be only of a sentimental kind, she brought from her own room the photographs of Mimi, of her grandfather, and of Adam Salton, whom by now she had grown to look on with reliance, as a brother whom she could trust.  She kept the pictures near her heart, to which her hand naturally strayed when her feelings of constraint, distrust, or fear became so poignant as to interfere with the calm which she felt was necessary to help her through her ordeal.

At first Edgar Caswall was courteous and polite, even thoughtful; but after a little while, when he found her resistance to his domination grow, he abandoned all forms of self-control and appeared in the same dominance as he had previously shown.  She was prepared, however, for this, both by her former experience and the natural fighting instinct within her.  By this means, as the minutes went on, both developed the power and preserved the equality in which they had begun.

Without warning, the psychic battle between the two individualities began afresh.  This time both the positive and negative causes were all in favour of the man.  The woman was alone and in bad spirits, unsupported; nothing at all was in her favour except the memory of the two victorious contests; whereas the man, though unaided, as before, by either Lady Arabella or Oolanga, was in full strength, well rested, and in flourishing circumstances.  It was not, therefore, to be wondered at that his native dominance of character had full opportunity of asserting itself.  He began his preliminary stare with a conscious sense of power, and, as it appeared to have immediate effect on the girl, he felt an ever-growing conviction of ultimate victory.

After a little Lilla’s resolution began to flag.  She felt that the contest was unequal—that she was unable to put forth her best efforts.  As she was an unselfish person, she could not fight so well in her own battle as in that of someone whom she loved and to whom she was devoted.  Edgar saw the relaxing of the muscles of face and brow, and the almost collapse of the heavy eyelids which seemed tumbling downward in sleep.  Lilla made gallant efforts to brace her dwindling powers, but for a time unsuccessfully.  At length there came an interruption, which seemed like a powerful stimulant.  Through the wide window she saw Lady Arabella enter the plain gateway of the farm, and advance towards the hall door.  She was clad as usual in tight-fitting white, which accentuated her thin, sinuous figure.

The sight did for Lilla what no voluntary effort could have done.  Her eyes flashed, and in an instant she felt as though a new life had suddenly developed within her.  Lady Arabella’s entry, in her usual unconcerned, haughty, supercilious way, heightened the effect, so that when the two stood close to each other battle was joined.  Mr. Caswall, too, took new courage from her coming, and all his masterfulness and power came back to him.  His looks, intensified, had more obvious effect than had been noticeable that day.  Lilla seemed at last overcome by his dominance.  Her face became red and pale—violently red and ghastly pale—by rapid turns.  Her strength seemed gone.  Her knees collapsed, and she was actually sinking on the floor, when to her surprise and joy Mimi came into the room, running hurriedly and breathing heavily.

Lilla rushed to her, and the two clasped hands.  With that, a new sense of power, greater than Lilla had ever seen in her, seemed to quicken her cousin.  Her hand swept the air in front of Edgar Caswall, seeming to drive him backward more and more by each movement, till at last he seemed to be actually hurled through the door which Mimi’s entrance had left open, and fell at full length on the gravel path without.

Then came the final and complete collapse of Lilla, who, without a sound, sank down on the floor.

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #26 on: September 15, 2007, 12:53:58 am »


Mimi was greatly distressed when she saw her cousin lying prone.  She had a few times in her life seen Lilla on the verge of fainting, but never senseless; and now she was frightened.  She threw herself on her knees beside Lilla, and tried, by rubbing her hands and other measures commonly known, to restore her.  But all her efforts were unavailing.  Lilla still lay white and senseless.  In fact, each moment she looked worse; her breast, that had been heaving with the stress, became still, and the pallor of her face grew like marble.

At these succeeding changes Mimi’s fright grew, till it altogether mastered her.  She succeeded in controlling herself only to the extent that she did not scream.

Lady Arabella had followed Caswall, when he had recovered sufficiently to get up and walk—though stumblingly—in the direction of Castra Regis.  When Mimi was quite alone with Lilla and the need for effort had ceased, she felt weak and trembled.  In her own mind, she attributed it to a sudden change in the weather—it was momentarily becoming apparent that a storm was coming on.

She raised Lilla’s head and laid it on her warm young breast, but all in vain.  The cold of the white features thrilled through her, and she utterly collapsed when it was borne in on her that Lilla had passed away.

The dusk gradually deepened and the shades of evening closed in, but Mimi did not seem to notice or to care.  She sat on the floor with her arms round the body of the girl whom she loved.  Darker and blacker grew the sky as the coming storm and the closing night joined forces.  Still she sat on—alone—tearless—unable to think.  Mimi did not know how long she sat there.  Though it seemed to her that ages had passed, it could not have been more than half-an-hour.  She suddenly came to herself, and was surprised to find that her grandfather had not returned.  For a while she lay quiet, thinking of the immediate past.  Lilla’s hand was still in hers, and to her surprise it was still warm.  Somehow this helped her consciousness, and without any special act of will she stood up.  She lit a lamp and looked at her cousin.  There was no doubt that Lilla was dead; but when the lamp-light fell on her eyes, they seemed to look at Mimi with intent—with meaning.  In this state of dark isolation a new resolution came to her, and grew and grew until it became a fixed definite purpose.  She would face Caswall and call him to account for his murder of Lilla—that was what she called it to herself.  She would also take steps—she knew not what or how—to avenge the part taken by Lady Arabella.

In this frame of mind she lit all the lamps in the room, got water and linen from her room, and set about the decent ordering of Lilla’s body.  This took some time; but when it was finished, she put on her hat and cloak, put out the lights, and set out quietly for Castra Regis.

As Mimi drew near the Castle, she saw no lights except those in and around the tower room.  The lights showed her that Mr. Caswall was there, so she entered by the hall door, which as usual was open, and felt her way in the darkness up the staircase to the lobby of the room.  The door was ajar, and the light from within showed brilliantly through the opening.  She saw Edgar Caswall walking restlessly to and fro in the room, with his hands clasped behind his back.  She opened the door without knocking, and walked right into the room.  As she entered, he ceased walking, and stared at her in surprise.  She made no remark, no comment, but continued the fixed look which he had seen on her entrance.

For a time silence reigned, and the two stood looking fixedly at each other.  Mimi was the first to speak.

“You murderer!  Lilla is dead!”

“Dead!  Good God!  When did she die?”

“She died this afternoon, just after you left her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes—and so are you—or you ought to be.  You killed her!”

“I killed her!  Be careful what you say!”

“As God sees us, it is true; and you know it.  You came to Mercy Farm on purpose to break her—if you could.  And the accomplice of your guilt, Lady Arabella March, came for the same purpose.”

“Be careful, woman,” he said hotly.  “Do not use such names in that way, or you shall suffer for it.”

“I am suffering for it—have suffered for it—shall suffer for it.  Not for speaking the truth as I have done, but because you two, with devilish malignity, did my darling to death.  It is you and your accomplice who have to dread punishment, not I.”

“Take care!” he said again.

“Oh, I am not afraid of you or your accomplice,” she answered spiritedly.  “I am content to stand by every word I have said, every act I have done.  Moreover, I believe in God’s justice.  I fear not the grinding of His mills; if necessary I shall set the wheels in motion myself.  But you don’t care for God, or believe in Him.  Your god is your great kite, which cows the birds of a whole district.  But be sure that His hand, when it rises, always falls at the appointed time.  It may be that your name is being called even at this very moment at the Great Assize.  Repent while there is still time.  Happy you, if you may be allowed to enter those mighty halls in the company of the pure-souled angel whose voice has only to whisper one word of justice, and you disappear for ever into everlasting torment.”

The sudden death of Lilla caused consternation among Mimi’s friends and well-wishers.  Such a tragedy was totally unexpected, as Adam and Sir Nathaniel had been expecting the White Worm’s vengeance to fall upon themselves.

Adam, leaving his wife free to follow her own desires with regard to Lilla and her grandfather, busied himself with filling the well-hole with the fine sand prepared for the purpose, taking care to have lowered at stated intervals quantities of the store of dynamite, so as to be ready for the final explosion.  He had under his immediate supervision a corps of workmen, and was assisted by Sir Nathaniel, who had come over for the purpose, and all were now staying at Lesser Hill.

Mr. Salton, too, showed much interest in the job, and was constantly coming in and out, nothing escaping his observation.

Since her marriage to Adam and their coming to stay at Doom Tower, Mimi had been fettered by fear of the horrible monster at Diana’s Grove.  But now she dreaded it no longer.  She accepted the fact of its assuming at will the form of Lady Arabella.  She had still to tax and upbraid her for her part in the unhappiness which had been wrought on Lilla, and for her share in causing her death.

One evening, when Mimi entered her own room, she went to the window and threw an eager look round the whole circle of sight.  A single glance satisfied her that the White Worm in propriâ personâ was not visible.  So she sat down in the window-seat and enjoyed the pleasure of a full view, from which she had been so long cut off.  The maid who waited on her had told her that Mr. Salton had not yet returned home, so she felt free to enjoy the luxury of peace and quiet.

As she looked out of the window, she saw something thin and white move along the avenue.  She thought she recognised the figure of Lady Arabella, and instinctively drew back behind the curtain.  When she had ascertained, by peeping out several times, that the lady had not seen her, she watched more carefully, all her instinctive hatred flooding back at the sight of her.  Lady Arabella was moving swiftly and stealthily, looking back and around her at intervals, as if she feared to be followed.  This gave Mimi an idea that she was up to no good, so she determined to seize the occasion for watching her in more detail.

Hastily putting on a dark cloak and hat, she ran downstairs and out into the avenue.  Lady Arabella had moved, but the sheen of her white dress was still to be seen among the young oaks around the gateway.  Keeping in shadow, Mimi followed, taking care not to come so close as to awake the other’s suspicion, and watched her quarry pass along the road in the direction of Castra Regis.

She followed on steadily through the gloom of the trees, depending on the glint of the white dress to keep her right.  The wood began to thicken, and presently, when the road widened and the trees grew farther back, she lost sight of any indication of her whereabouts.  Under the present conditions it was impossible for her to do any more, so, after waiting for a while, still hidden in the shadow to see if she could catch another glimpse of the white frock, she determined to go on slowly towards Castra Regis, and trust to the chapter of accidents to pick up the trail again.  She went on slowly, taking advantage of every obstacle and shadow to keep herself concealed.

At last she entered on the grounds of the Castle, at a spot from which the windows of the turret were dimly visible, without having seen again any sign of Lady Arabella.

Meanwhile, during most of the time that Mimi Salton had been moving warily along in the gloom, she was in reality being followed by Lady Arabella, who had caught sight of her leaving the house and had never again lost touch with her.  It was a case of the hunter being hunted.  For a time Mimi’s many turnings, with the natural obstacles that were perpetually intervening, caused Lady Arabella some trouble; but when she was close to Castra Regis, there was no more possibility of concealment, and the strange double following went swiftly on.

When she saw Mimi close to the hall door of Castra Regis and ascending the steps, she followed.  When Mimi entered the dark hall and felt her way up the staircase, still, as she believed, following Lady Arabella, the latter kept on her way.  When they reached the lobby of the turret-rooms, Mimi believed that the object of her search was ahead of her.

Edgar Caswall sat in the gloom of the great room, occasionally stirred to curiosity when the drifting clouds allowed a little light to fall from the storm-swept sky.  But nothing really interested him now.  Since he had heard of Lilla’s death, the gloom of his remorse, emphasised by Mimi’s upbraiding, had made more hopeless his cruel, selfish, saturnine nature.  He heard no sound, for his normal faculties seemed benumbed.

Mimi, when she came to the door, which stood ajar, gave a light tap.  So light was it that it did not reach Caswall’s ears.  Then, taking her courage in both hands, she boldly pushed the door and entered.  As she did so, her heart sank, for now she was face to face with a difficulty which had not, in her state of mental perturbation, occurred to her.

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #27 on: September 15, 2007, 12:54:44 am »


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.

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Carolyn Silver
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« Reply #28 on: September 15, 2007, 12:56:17 am »


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.”

As he spoke, he was lighting another piece of the magnesium ribbon, which made a blinding glare in which everything was plainly discernible, down to the smallest detail.  This exactly suited Mimi.  She took accurate note of the wicket and its fastening before the glare had died away.  She took her revolver out and fired into the lock, which was shivered on the instant, the pieces flying round in all directions, but happily without causing hurt to anyone.  Then she pushed the wicket open and ran down the narrow stair, and so to the hall door.  Opening this also, she ran down the avenue, never lessening her speed till she stood outside the door of Lesser Hill.  The door was opened at once on her ringing.

“Is Mr. Adam Salton in?” she asked.

“He has just come in, a few minutes ago.  He has gone up to the study,” replied a servant.

She ran upstairs at once and joined him.  He seemed relieved when he saw her, but scrutinised her face keenly.  He saw that she had been in some concern, so led her over to the sofa in the window and sat down beside her.

“Now, dear, tell me all about it!” he said.

She rushed breathlessly through all the details of her adventure on the turret roof.  Adam listened attentively, helping her all he could, and not embarrassing her by any questioning.  His thoughtful silence was a great help to her, for it allowed her to collect and organise her thoughts.

“I must go and see Caswall to-morrow, to hear what he has to say on the subject.”

“But, dear, for my sake, don’t have any quarrel with Mr. Caswall.  I have had too much trial and pain lately to wish it increased by any anxiety regarding you.”

“You shall not, dear—if I can help it—please God,” he said solemnly, and he kissed her.

Then, in order to keep her interested so that she might forget the fears and anxieties that had disturbed her, he began to talk over the details of her adventure, making shrewd comments which attracted and held her attention.  Presently, inter alia, he said:

“That’s a dangerous game Caswall is up to.  It seems to me that that young man—though he doesn’t appear to know it—is riding for a fall!”

“How, dear?  I don’t understand.”

“Kite flying on a night like this from a place like the tower of Castra Regis is, to say the least of it, dangerous.  It is not merely courting death or other accident from lightning, but it is bringing the lightning into where he lives.  Every cloud that is blowing up here—and they all make for the highest point—is bound to develop into a flash of lightning.  That kite is up in the air and is bound to attract the lightning.  Its cord makes a road for it on which to travel to earth.  When it does come, it will strike the top of the tower with a weight a hundred times greater than a whole park of artillery, and will knock Castra Regis into pieces.  Where it will go after that, no one can tell.  If there should be any metal by which it can travel, such will not only point the road, but be the road itself.”

“Would it be dangerous to be out in the open air when such a thing is taking place?” she asked.

“No, little woman.  It would be the safest possible place—so long as one was not in the line of the electric current.”

“Then, do let us go outside.  I don’t want to run into any foolish danger—or, far more, to ask you to do so.  But surely if the open is safest, that is the place for us.”

Without another word, she put on again the cloak she had thrown off, and a small, tight-fitting cap.  Adam too put on his cap, and, after seeing that his revolver was all right, gave her his hand, and they left the house together.

“I think the best thing we can do will be to go round all the places which are mixed up in this affair.”

“All right, dear, I am ready.  But, if you don’t mind, we might go first to Mercy.  I am anxious about grandfather, and we might see that—as yet, at all events—nothing has happened there.”

So they went on the high-hung road along the top of the Brow.  The wind here was of great force, and made a strange booming noise as it swept high overhead; though not the sound of cracking and tearing as it passed through the woods of high slender trees which grew on either side of the road.  Mimi could hardly keep her feet.  She was not afraid; but the force to which she was opposed gave her a good excuse to hold on to her husband extra tight.

At Mercy there was no one up—at least, all the lights were out.  But to Mimi, accustomed to the nightly routine of the house, there were manifest signs that all was well, except in the little room on the first floor, where the blinds were down.  Mimi could not bear to look at that, to think of it.  Adam understood her pain, for he had been keenly interested in poor Lilla.  He bent over and kissed her, and then took her hand and held it hard.  Thus they passed on together, returning to the high road towards Castra Regis.

At the gate of Castra Regis they were extra careful.  When drawing near, Adam stumbled upon the wire that Lady Arabella had left trailing on the ground.

Adam drew his breath at this, and spoke in a low, earnest whisper:

“I don’t want to frighten you, Mimi dear, but wherever that wire is there is danger.”

“Danger!  How?”

“That is the track where the lightning will go; at any moment, even now whilst we are speaking and searching, a fearful force may be loosed upon us.  Run on, dear; you know the way to where the avenue joins the highroad.  If you see any sign of the wire, keep away from it, for God’s sake.  I shall join you at the gateway.”

“Are you going to follow that wire alone?”

“Yes, dear.  One is sufficient for that work.  I shall not lose a moment till I am with you.”

“Adam, when I came with you into the open, my main wish was that we should be together if anything serious happened.  You wouldn’t deny me that right, would you, dear?”

“No, dear, not that or any right.  Thank God that my wife has such a wish.  Come; we will go together.  We are in the hands of God.  If He wishes, we shall be together at the end, whenever or wherever that may be.”

They picked up the trail of the wire on the steps and followed it down the avenue, taking care not to touch it with their feet.  It was easy enough to follow, for the wire, if not bright, was self-coloured, and showed clearly.  They followed it out of the gateway and into the avenue of Diana’s Grove.

Here a new gravity clouded Adam’s face, though Mimi saw no cause for fresh concern.  This was easily enough explained.  Adam knew of the explosive works in progress regarding the well-hole, but the matter had been kept from his wife.  As they stood near the house, Adam asked Mimi to return to the road, ostensibly to watch the course of the wire, telling her that there might be a branch wire leading somewhere else.  She was to search the undergrowth, and if she found it, was to warn him by the Australian native “Coo-ee!”

Whilst they were standing together, there came a blinding flash of lightning, which lit up for several seconds the whole area of earth and sky.  It was only the first note of the celestial prelude, for it was followed in quick succession by numerous flashes, whilst the crash and roll of thunder seemed continuous.

Adam, appalled, drew his wife to him and held her close.  As far as he could estimate by the interval between lightning and thunder-clap, the heart of the storm was still some distance off, so he felt no present concern for their safety.  Still, it was apparent that the course of the storm was moving swiftly in their direction.  The lightning flashes came faster and faster and closer together; the thunder-roll was almost continuous, not stopping for a moment—a new crash beginning before the old one had ceased.  Adam kept looking up in the direction where the kite strained and struggled at its detaining cord, but, of course, the dull evening light prevented any distinct scrutiny.

At length there came a flash so appallingly bright that in its glare Nature seemed to be standing still.  So long did it last, that there was time to distinguish its configuration.  It seemed like a mighty tree inverted, pendent from the sky.  The whole country around within the angle of vision was lit up till it seemed to glow.  Then a broad ribbon of fire seemed to drop on to the tower of Castra Regis just as the thunder crashed.  By the glare, Adam could see the tower shake and tremble, and finally fall to pieces like a house of cards.  The passing of the lightning left the sky again dark, but a blue flame fell downward from the tower, and, with inconceivable rapidity, running along the ground in the direction of Diana’s Grove, reached the dark silent house, which in the instant burst into flame at a hundred different points.

At the same moment there rose from the house a rending, crashing sound of woodwork, broken or thrown about, mixed with a quick scream so appalling that Adam, stout of heart as he undoubtedly was, felt his blood turn into ice.  Instinctively, despite the danger and their consciousness of it, husband and wife took hands and listened, trembling.  Something was going on close to them, mysterious, terrible, deadly!  The shrieks continued, though less sharp in sound, as though muffled.  In the midst of them was a terrific explosion, seemingly from deep in the earth.

The flames from Castra Regis and from Diana’s Grove made all around almost as light as day, and now that the lightning had ceased to flash, their eyes, unblinded, were able to judge both perspective and detail.  The heat of the burning house caused the iron doors to warp and collapse.  Seemingly of their own accord, they fell open, and exposed the interior.  The Saltons could now look through to the room beyond, where the well-hole yawned, a deep narrow circular chasm.  From this the agonised shrieks were rising, growing ever more terrible with each second that passed.

But it was not only the heart-rending sound that almost paralysed poor Mimi with terror.  What she saw was sufficient to fill her with evil dreams for the remainder of her life.  The whole place looked as if a sea of blood had been beating against it.  Each of the explosions from below had thrown out from the well-hole, as if it had been the mouth of a cannon, a mass of fine sand mixed with blood, and a horrible repulsive slime in which were great red masses of rent and torn flesh and fat.  As the explosions kept on, more and more of this repulsive mass was shot up, the great bulk of it falling back again.  Many of the awful fragments were of something which had lately been alive.  They quivered and trembled and writhed as though they were still in torment, a supposition to which the unending scream gave a horrible credence.  At moments some mountainous mass of flesh surged up through the narrow orifice, as though forced by a measureless power through an opening infinitely smaller than itself.  Some of these fragments were partially covered with white skin as of a human being, and others—the largest and most numerous—with scaled skin as of a gigantic lizard or serpent.  Once, in a sort of lull or pause, the seething contents of the hole rose, after the manner of a bubbling spring, and Adam saw part of the thin form of Lady Arabella, forced up to the top amid a mass of blood and slime, and what looked as if it had been the entrails of a monster torn into shreds.  Several times some masses of enormous bulk were forced up through the well-hole with inconceivable violence, and, suddenly expanding as they came into larger space, disclosed sections of the White Worm which Adam and Sir Nathaniel had seen looking over the trees with its enormous eyes of emerald-green flickering like great lamps in a gale.

At last the explosive power, which was not yet exhausted, evidently reached the main store of dynamite which had been lowered into the worm hole.  The result was appalling.  The ground for far around quivered and opened in long deep chasms, whose edges shook and fell in, throwing up clouds of sand which fell back and hissed amongst the rising water.  The heavily built house shook to its foundations.  Great stones were thrown up as from a volcano, some of them, great masses of hard stone, squared and grooved with implements wrought by human hands, breaking up and splitting in mid air as though riven by some infernal power.  Trees near the house—and therefore presumably in some way above the hole, which sent up clouds of dust and steam and fine sand mingled, and which carried an appalling stench which sickened the spectators—were torn up by the roots and hurled into the air.  By now, flames were bursting violently from all over the ruins, so dangerously that Adam caught up his wife in his arms, and ran with her from the proximity of the flames.

Then almost as quickly as it had begun, the whole cataclysm ceased, though a deep-down rumbling continued intermittently for some time.  Then silence brooded over all—silence so complete that it seemed in itself a sentient thing—silence which seemed like incarnate darkness, and conveyed the same idea to all who came within its radius.  To the young people who had suffered the long horror of that awful night, it brought relief—relief from the presence or the fear of all that was horrible—relief which seemed perfected when the red rays of sunrise shot up over the far eastern sea, bringing a promise of a new order of things with the coming day.

* * * * *

His bed saw little of Adam Salton for the remainder of that night.  He and Mimi walked hand in hand in the brightening dawn round by the Brow to Castra Regis and on to Lesser Hill.  They did so deliberately, in an attempt to think as little as possible of the terrible experiences of the night.  The morning was bright and cheerful, as a morning sometimes is after a devastating storm.  The clouds, of which there were plenty in evidence, brought no lingering idea of gloom.  All nature was bright and joyous, being in striking contrast to the scenes of wreck and devastation, the effects of obliterating fire and lasting ruin.

The only evidence of the once stately pile of Castra Regis and its inhabitants was a shapeless huddle of shattered architecture, dimly seen as the keen breeze swept aside the cloud of acrid smoke which marked the site of the once lordly castle.  As for Diana’s Grove, they looked in vain for a sign which had a suggestion of permanence.  The oak trees of the Grove were still to be seen—some of them—emerging from a haze of smoke, the great trunks solid and erect as ever, but the larger branches broken and twisted and rent, with bark stripped and chipped, and the smaller branches broken and dishevelled looking from the constant stress and threshing of the storm.

Of the house as such, there was, even at the short distance from which they looked, no trace.  Adam resolutely turned his back on the devastation and hurried on.  Mimi was not only upset and shocked in many ways, but she was physically “dog tired,” and falling asleep on her feet.  Adam took her to her room and made her undress and get into bed, taking care that the room was well lighted both by sunshine and lamps.  The only obstruction was from a silk curtain, drawn across the window to keep out the glare.  He sat beside her, holding her hand, well knowing that the comfort of his presence was the best restorative for her.  He stayed with her till sleep had overmastered her wearied body.  Then he went softly away.  He found his uncle and Sir Nathaniel in the study, having an early cup of tea, amplified to the dimensions of a possible breakfast.  Adam explained that he had not told his wife that he was going over the horrible places again, lest it should frighten her, for the rest and sleep in ignorance would help her and make a gap of peacefulness between the horrors.

Sir Nathaniel agreed.

“We know, my boy,” he said, “that the unfortunate Lady Arabella is dead, and that the foul carcase of the Worm has been torn to pieces—pray God that its evil soul will never more escape from the nethermost hell.”

They visited Diana’s Grove first, not only because it was nearer, but also because it was the place where most description was required, and Adam felt that he could tell his story best on the spot.  The absolute destruction of the place and everything in it seen in the broad daylight was almost inconceivable.  To Sir Nathaniel, it was as a story of horror full and complete.  But to Adam it was, as it were, only on the fringes.  He knew what was still to be seen when his friends had got over the knowledge of externals.  As yet, they had only seen the outside of the house—or rather, where the outside of the house once had been.  The great horror lay within.  However, age—and the experience of age—counts.

A strange, almost elemental, change in the aspect had taken place in the time which had elapsed since the dawn.  It would almost seem as if Nature herself had tried to obliterate the evil signs of what had occurred.  True, the utter ruin of the house was made even more manifest in the searching daylight; but the more appalling destruction which lay beneath was not visible.  The rent, torn, and dislocated stonework looked worse than before; the upheaved foundations, the piled-up fragments of masonry, the fissures in the torn earth—all were at the worst.  The Worm’s hole was still evident, a round fissure seemingly leading down into the very bowels of the earth.  But all the horrid mass of blood and slime, of torn, evil-smelling flesh and the sickening remnants of violent death, were gone.  Either some of the later explosions had thrown up from the deep quantities of water which, though foul and corrupt itself, had still some cleansing power left, or else the writhing mass which stirred from far below had helped to drag down and obliterate the items of horror.  A grey dust, partly of fine sand, partly of the waste of the falling ruin, covered everything, and, though ghastly itself, helped to mask something still worse.

After a few minutes of watching, it became apparent to the three men that the turmoil far below had not yet ceased.  At short irregular intervals the hell-broth in the hole seemed as if boiling up.  It rose and fell again and turned over, showing in fresh form much of the nauseous detail which had been visible earlier.  The worst parts were the great masses of the flesh of the monstrous Worm, in all its red and sickening aspect.  Such fragments had been bad enough before, but now they were infinitely worse.  Corruption comes with startling rapidity to beings whose destruction has been due wholly or in part to lightning—the whole mass seemed to have become all at once corrupt!  The whole surface of the fragments, once alive, was covered with insects, worms, and vermin of all kinds.  The sight was horrible enough, but, with the awful smell added, was simply unbearable.  The Worm’s hole appeared to breathe forth death in its most repulsive forms.  The friends, with one impulse, moved to the top of the Brow, where a fresh breeze from the sea was blowing up.

At the top of the Brow, beneath them as they looked down, they saw a shining mass of white, which looked strangely out of place amongst such wreckage as they had been viewing.  It appeared so strange that Adam suggested trying to find a way down, so that they might see it more closely.

“We need not go down; I know what it is,” Sir Nathaniel said.  “The explosions of last night have blown off the outside of the cliffs—that which we see is the vast bed of china clay through which the Worm originally found its way down to its lair.  I can catch the glint of the water of the deep quags far down below.  Well, her ladyship didn’t deserve such a funeral—or such a monument.”

* * * * *

The horrors of the last few hours had played such havoc with Mimi’s nerves, that a change of scene was imperative—if a permanent breakdown was to be avoided.

“I think,” said old Mr. Salton, “it is quite time you young people departed for that honeymoon of yours!”  There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke.

Mimi’s soft shy glance at her stalwart husband, was sufficient answer.

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